Tied -- A Last Train to Blue Moon Canyon Alternate Ending
by AbbieWithAnie
Summary: When Lori Girard's party is taken off-course, Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys get caught up in a tangle of deceit, blackmail, and danger that they never saw coming.
1. Chapter 1

chapter one. nancy drew. absolutely not.

Maybe _._ _What do you mean, maybe? It's absolutely._ No. Maybe. I've seen my share of maybe's that didn't turn out. Of absolutely's that wound up absolutely-nots. _Come on. It's happening. Ab-so-lute-ly._ No—it's maybe. (I'm talking to myself here. Ignore.)

I start across the gap of rocky sand, closing the space between me and that absolutely. The train engine still breathes heavily, exhaling steam. And I'm almost to that gap in the canyon walls—carved out all smooth, copper swirls. I can start to glimpse a dark shape just around the bend. The adrenaline starts to run. And then?

*BEEP BEEP*

I roll my eyes, shoving my hand into my jeans pocket. Swipe the screen of my smart phone. Unlock, please. It's just me.

Joe Hardy:

Nance you've gotta get back on the train quick. Hostess's orders.

"What?" My eyebrows pull themselves together with slight confusion. "Um." I punch back a reply.

ND: RIGHT NOW?

JH: yeah right now.

ND: Fine. I won't ask why. Tty in a sec.

 _Hostess's orders. Oh yay._

Feeling like a bit of a loser, I twist back around and cram my phone into my pocket, stalking away from canyon entrance, and leaving just a set of lame footprints trailing halfway across the sand.

"What is going on?" I huff once I get back on the train, stopping in the door of the dining car, where Frank and Joe are loitering by the awkwardly-large table.

"Honestly? Your guess is as good as mine." Joe perches himself on the edge of the table. "Lori just announced that somebody needed to get you back on the train."

Frank clears his throat. "Apparently we've had a change of plans."

I blink, trying to process this. "Wait, what? But Lori just let me off to go check out Brimstone Canyon. Like, two minutes ago." A short pause. "Where is she now?"

Joe shrugs one shoulder, glancing over at Frank. "Last I saw her she was in Jake's invention car with Tino."

I purse my lips, not saying another word, and spin around, shoving open the car door. Joe follows, and so does Frank.

Do you have any idea how long this train feels when you've got steam ready to blast out your ears? Finally I burst out of Jake's car and kick open the next door, stumbling inside the bright, metallic-plated machine car, and crashing the party.

Lori stands, at the far end of the car beside the padlocked door, one fingertip pressed against her lips. Tino is poring over the map of Brimstone Canyon, rolled out across the table, which is still slanted against the wall, marked with the beam of light pinpointing the location of the mine, shaking his head like he just cannot believe it.

Our hostess snaps out of her puzzled daze as Joe lets the door slam. "Oh! Jancy! Thank goodness your here." She violently waves me over. "It seems that Tino here thinks we're not exactly in the right—"

"Something went faulty somewhere, and this just doesn't match up." Tino cuts in, not even looking up from the ancient, barely-readable map. "We're drastically off-course."

"Off-course," I echo, pressing one palm into the surface of the console.

"How do you figure that?" Joe speaks up.

Tino shakes his head slowly. "We shouldn't even be in Brimstone Canyon at all, it doesn't make sense."

"Yes, actually, it does." I take a step forward. "If you had studied how this whole amazing contraption thing works, you'd see how I've gone through all the steps perfectly, and this—" I tap the area on the map where the little circle of white light is hovering "—is the outcome. Jake rigged this whole system up so that his niece, Ruth, would be able to follow the clues and discover the mine—"

Tino puts up a hand, silencing me in mid-sentence. "No need to get your feathers in a bunch Nancy, we all make mistakes at one time or another—take it from me." A cocky smirk twists itself onto his face. "And I don't need a history lesson about Ruth Whatserface."

I swallow hard, feeling the heat starting to rise to my face. "I didn't make a mistake."

"Uh, Tino?" Frank clears his throat, resting his elbows on the edge of the table. "According to.. your calculations, why do you think this isn't where we want to be?"

"Very. Good. Question." Tino points one finger matter-of-factly at Frank, like he's calling on him in science class. "But first, so we don't have any.." he searches the ceiling for the right word. "fraudulent excuses, let's hear Nancy's explanation, straight from the amateur detective's mouth, in the presence of the witnesses."

I hear Joe whisper in disbelief, "Witnesses? What _is_ this?"

"So." Tino motions towards me to unload the talk. "Go ahead. Tell us how your math adds up, and then I'll tell you how it doesn't."

 _Oh gee thanks._ I stifle an eye-roll.

"Okay. Fine." I slide my backpack off one shoulder, peeling back the zipper and shoving my hand inside. "Firstly, there's this letter from Jake Hurley, addressed to Ruth." Tino's eyebrows raise as I produce the tattered note. _Yeah, does it look familiar, wonder cop? To jog your memory, it's the same letter that you thought was rubbish._ "In it, he basically walks her through each step that will bring her closer to finding the mine—including the answer key to the puzzle box in the caboose."

"What puzzle box." Tino states blankly, like it isn't even a question.

I sigh through my nose, trying not to roll my eyes. "Anyway, the outcome of the puzzle was pretty basic—a jumble of eight letters, which I punched into this machine," I reach over the console to rap my fingers on the little parking-meter-like device, stuck to the floor. "Then, that robotic arm came to life, grabbed the correct map out of those files up there," Motioning towards the higher shelves where the array of tubes live. "and plopped it down on this table. And that's where the projector came in with the gemstones, created the correct light, and—"

"We know the rest of the story." Tino interrupts again, hands going into his pockets.

I raise both eyebrows. "Really."

"Now. My case." he totally ignores, turning to Lori, who is now sitting on the floor. "According to some in-depth investigating on my part, I'm pretty sure I can say that this projector—" he stabs a finger in the direction of the spider-looking machine pinching the gemstones in its claws. "—is working in correct order."

I hold a scoff inside my mouth. Of course it is.

"But, the problem..." he pauses, stepping up to the console and placing one palm on its surface. "is here. This isn't the right map."

"What?" The word pops out of my mouth, sounding doubtful.

Tino nods slowly, like he's trying to drill this through a vegetable's head. "Yes, you heard me. It just doesn't line up. End of story." he shrugs his shoulders.

"Wait." Joe cuts in, wanting to laugh. "That's kind of... I don't know. Ridiculous. How do you know any of this?"

Tino holds up a finger, begging our patience. "I'll show you," he clears his throat, straightening his stupid leather jacket. "Nancy, you were correct about the whole 'punching the jumble of letters into the machine' thing. Okay?" he raises his eyebrows.

I nod, crossing my arms. "Go on."

"And the jumble of letters, as you can see," he flips open the little door on the device, to show us all what we already know. "Is 'N-V-R-Z-T-B-A-A.' Which is also correct. And, the 'robotic arm' is programmed to go and find that map, which is filed under this code: N-V-R-Z-T-B-A-A. But."

I sigh. "But?"

"Take a look for yourself," Tino motions for us to come forward.

I push past him to examine the map's metal tube.

Joe leans closer to study a code embossed on the cylinder's end. "Here, Nance."

"Mmhmm. Read it aloud, kid."

I can feel Joe's eyes begging to roll. "N-V-R-Z-T-B-..." He freezes, swallowing. "..R-T."

"Right. Exactly." Tino smiles a little, possibly trying to not look too arrogant for a police detective. Ha. Too late. "According to Jake Hurley, those last two letters should be A-A, not R-T; so."

I press my lips into a thin white line, taking a step back.

Lori speaks up from the floor. "Is that true?"

Silence.

"But you said yourself that the machinery is programmed to find the map with the correct code." my eyebrows knot together with confusion. "And the map—this map—was exactly where it should be in the files, so the machine could find it."

"Right—that's what you figured." Tino shrugs one shoulder. "I guess that's what any amateur detective would figure. But," He holds up one finger. "you have to consider everything—like how the filing system is totally botched."

"What?" I raise an eyebrow. "But why would it be—"

"It's an unlikely mistake, but completely possible. And in this case, that's what exactly what happened." Tino straightens up, hands out of pockets. "Maybe Niece Ruth went nuts trying to find the stupid map, and put the tubes back in the wrong order. Who knows."

I shake my head slowly. "Ruth never got this far."

Short pause, while Tino crosses his arms cynically. "That's beside the point."

"Then what's the answer here?" Frank asks, shrugging. "I mean, do you have a solution, or are you just saying that this is the wrong map, end of story?"

Tino laughs. "Of course I have a solution." he stalks across the room, grabbing an identical metal tube leaning against the wall. "Since the filing is obviously messed up, I laboriously went through the maps myself, and found our answer—" He taps the end of the tube with his index finger. "—the one with the _correct_ code. Look closer, if you want."

I pull a breath into my lungs, taking one end of the map's tube in my hands and reading the jumbled letters embossed into the metal.

N-V-R-Z-T-B-A-A. _Darn it. Why is this happening?_

"Okay," I clear my throat, straightening up. "Let's see it."

Lori gets to her feet, and we all collectively huddle closer to the console, as Tino reaches up to lift the map of Brimstone Canyon out of the way, rolling it back up and sliding it into the metal tube.

I glance to my right at Joe, who is watching as the police detective slides the new map into place, rolling it out slowly and ceremonially, trying to make us all pay attention. Joe's gaze snaps away to meet mine, and we both exchange a glance. He finds a little side-smile for me. The 'we can deal with all this later' kind.

"Okay, kiddos. The _last_ piece of the puzzle." Tino announces, pulling our attention back to the map. The bright circle of light lands on the browned, aged paper, pinpointing a deep swoop in a canyon, labelled: 'Scratcherd Bend'.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is our destination." he crosses his arms stiffly, taking a step back to absorb our expressions. Mine is shocked and reddening. "Now, I understand how you must feel, Nancy—trust me, I've been there." Tino nods slowly, looking me square in the eyes. "For this type of deal, your mistake with the maps is just a... negligible error, kay? Forget it happened." he slaps one hand down on the console. "But next time, if you're not sure about something like this? Just ask me—helping people is what I'm all about, remember?"

I nod stiffly, swallowing a lead weight. "Yeah. Right." I can feel Joe's gaze brush across my face. Then a long, painful silence kills all conversation.

Lori takes a deep breath and claps her hands together. "Well then, I guess I'll let the conductor know that we're headed for Scratch... whatever Bend. See you later, people," she shoves a strand of blonde hair away from her face and pushes through the heavy iron door to the next car, slamming it as she leaves.

Tino glances from Joe, to me, to Frank. I take one more questioning look at the stretched out map, at Scratcherd Bend.

 _Maybe? Absolutely? Absolutely not?_ I don't know anymore. I hate not knowing.

Joe turns to me, lowering his voice a little. "Want to meet up in the dining car? Go over some stuff?" he raises one eyebrow.

I swallow, shaking my head slowly. "Later, I will definitely. Right now I just need to get my thoughts in order." Turning towards the opposite end of the train car, I head for the door, leaving Tino in my dust.

"Kay. Tonight, then." Joe nods, pulling the door open, and holding it for me.

I nod. "Totally."

He smiles a little, stepping outside and onto the platform, letting the iron door shut behind us. "God, that was obnoxious."

"Tell me about it," I roll my eyes," I manage a smile for his sake, trying to brush off the whole deal I just went through. Trying to act casual and unaffected. "Anyway, I guess we'll go over stuff later. Bring coffee. You're gonna need it."

"Coffee? Gross."

"How? It's like… nectar." I roll my eyes.

Joe coughs a laugh. "I beg to differ."

"But seriously." I swing myself over the coupler. "You bring coffee, I'll bring a mystery."

He smiles. "Game on."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two: Duct-taped skeletons in your closet. (Joe Hardy's POV)**

"Did you hear what he said? Negligible error." Nancy glances up at me through the steam rising from her coffee mug, her palms pressed against her temples; her blue eyes looking like they're missing something. "Negligible error."

I nod slowly. "And hopefully you realize that's a bunch of baloney."

Nancy swirls the spoon around in her coffee. Not saying anything.

"C'mon, seriously. The dude is full of himself. Anyone standing ten feet away from him can feel the ego emission blasting off of him. I swear it hits me as soon as I step foot in Jake's car."

Nancy almost chokes on her coffee. In laughter. "Don't say those things while I'm swallowing. Please."

I smile and shake my head slowly. "Seriously, though. It's not like you messed up big time, like Tino's trying to make it out to be. It's not a federal case." I shrug, leaning one elbow on the counter, where we are seated, going over the case, and probably kind of annoying Frank, who is hunched over Charleena's laptop, a couple of inches away from the screen, like he's trying to puzzle out the theory of relativity.

In case you're wondering, yes. The train is now headed for Scratcherd Bend, and has been screaming along the tracks for a couple of hours now.

Nancy was getting her thoughts in order. In her room. In the sleeping car. And I was bored and impatient. When dusk finally came, all the creepy little yellowy lights turned themselves on in the mildewy-smelling hall of the sleeping car, (yes, apparently Lori got her super-rich Daddy to rig up some kind of advanced electric system in here. Don't ask me how that works.)

Frank always knows how to keep himself "employed" every minute, and I rarely get to catch him just staring off into space, day dreaming—he's not totally inhuman, though. He does it sometimes. But me? Yeah. I'm more of the wait around and fidget with the tassels on the ancient curtains hanging in the windows until they start to fall off kinda guy.

Frank can't stand that. So he virtually booted me out of our room, and ordered me to go work on something, somewhere. Anything. Just stop being bored. Ha, okay. I'm only stuck on a train barreling through the Colorado desert like there's no tomorrow, with absolutely nothing to even look out the window at, along with a handful of stuffy adults, each on their own power trip. I'll try to stop being bored.

So I sat on the floor. Underneath the QUIET sign. Really. Then thankfully, not too long afterwards, Nancy emerged from her room, tripping over me in the hallway. Finally. So it's coffee time. Even though coffee is totally gross.

"But still." Nancy looks down at the granite counter top, pulling me out of my daze. "I thought for sure I had it with Brimstone Canyon. And we were this close—" she pinches an inch of air between her fingertips. "—this close to finding out for real. And now.."

"What's with the said 'screwed-up filing system'?" I shove my fingers through my messy blonde hair. "I mean... even _I_ could've thought up a better excuse."

"Yeah and we all know how great you are at lying." That was sarcasm, by the way. Sometimes, with Frank, I can't even tell. He's got his poker face down to a science, I swear.

"I know." I come back dryly, my gaze trailing over to Frank, who hasn't taken his eyes away from the ridiculously-bright computer screen.

"What're you doing?"

My brother glances up to me for a split second, straightens his black-rimmed glasses. "Charleena was having some issue with her computer... she left all flustered and begged me to fix it for her."

I nod. "Wow. I'm surprised she let you anywhere near that thing."

Frank gives me an unamused look. "Her word docs are password locked."

"How do you know?" I bite back a smile. "Were you trying to bust in to read her novel?"

He laughs dryly, not smiling. It's so weird how he can do that. "No. She told me so."

"Riiiight."

Frank ignores me at this point, and goes back to de-fragging.

I turn to Nancy, who is staring, dazed, with her head in her palm, at the sepia-toned photograph of Camille and Jake framed on the wall. Her mind is lost somewhere else. "Maybe the filing system really is screwed up."

"Yeah." I cough, leaning forward onto my elbows. "And maybe Balducci's the one that messed with it."

Nancy doesn't shift her gaze, letting out a sigh. "Or maybe I'm just... wrong." she pinches her eyelids closed for a second, like if that stung. "Dang it. I hate being proved wrong."

I bite my lower lip, waiting a few seconds before saying anything. "...Who says Tino is right?"

Nancy laughs, opening her eyes. "Tino."

"Yeah." Short pause. She looks at me. "..And what does your gut tell you?"

Nancy presses her lips into a thin white line, looking down at her coffee mug, which has stopped steaming at this point. "That I'm right and he's wrong." She glances back up to me, something glittering in her blue eyes. Suspicion. "...and I smell a rat."

I nod slowly. "Me too."

"Sounds like..." Frank distractedly looks away from the screen. "this world-famous police detective isn't quite as squeaky clean as he makes himself out to be."

Nancy nods. "Exactly." she turns to face me. "Someone's gotta prove him wrong."

"Yeah." I sigh, falling back in my chair. "Maybe John Gray will, if he ever takes his headphones off and stops listening to little blips of Camille singing."

Nancy rolls her eyes and smiles. "Come with me." she stands up, swallowing the rest of her coffee in one gulp (which is pretty amazing). "Frank?"

"You guys go ahead, I've gotta finish this for Charleena."

I roll my eyes. "Goody-goody."

"I'll catch up with you all later."

Nancy nods, grabbing my hand and pulling me out the door. Literally.

Do you have any idea how fast Nancy can drag somebody through all four cars of a moving train, when she's seriously determined to get something done? Do you have any idea how tight she keeps her grip on my hand? Not like I mind. At all.

"So... what exactly are we looking for."

Nancy glances up briefly at me, letting out a sigh, and flipping the century-old map of Brimstone Canyon over on the chest of drawers. "Something. Anything. That will prove Tino wrong about this," she smoothes her palms down on the backside of the crinkled paper.

We both scan the old, yellowing parchment for a few seconds in silence... save the screaming, grumbling gears and churning wheels of the train as it barrels onward.

Jake's machine car is empty, except for Nancy and I, and the spider-like legs and claws of the steel machinery hangs over us like something out of The War of The Worlds.

I don't really know if I'd be able to tell her this, but hanging out and sleuthing with Nancy feels so right, and I've missed it like crazy. We haven't done this in forever. For pretty much this whole time, I've been stuck in the dining car, researching stuff about Hurley and his friends, and his friends' friends, and his friends' friends' kids, and their kids, and their kids' kids, and please please please let there be a relative still living that maybe knows something about Jake's mine.

It's yawn-worthy after a while; how can Frank blame me for being bored to death?

Finally, something is worth being pulled through a moving train by Nancy, to investigate. Finally.

"There." Nancy stabs one finger into the corner of the map, pointing out a faintly-scrawled date. "It says..." she leans closer, squinting to make out the faded handwriting. "September 5, 1899."

I nod slowly. "1899... And did Jake date all his maps?"

Nancy laughs. "No, he dated Camille."

I break into smile. "C'mon you know what I mean."

"I have no idea if he did, but there's one way to find out, right?" she crosses the floor, reaching up to pull the map off its holder thingie—that is, the map that Balducci found.

"Right." I nod again, as Nancy spreads out the paper, which begs to roll up on us.

Both our eyes immediately dive into the same corner. Another date. Yes.

I feel Nancy smile, then she reads it aloud. "August 19, 1904. ...whoa."

"What?" I raise one eyebrow, confused already.

She looks up after a second, breaking her daze; smiles. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"  
"Make your eyebrow go like that. I can't do that." She laughs softly, and proceeds to yanking off her backpack.

I shrug. "I uh.. never noticed."

Nancy pulls open the flap and takes out the tattered letter from Jake Hurley to his niece. "If I remember correctly..." she carefully unfolds the creases, running one fingertip along the letter's heading. "the third of November, 1901."

I feel both my eyebrows raise a little, as the broken pieces start to pull themselves together in my head. "So if Jake was referring to the winning map in 1901... and this map that Tino found was drawn in 1904..."

Nancy looks up, turning to face me. "Then that means Jake would have to be talking about a map that didn't even exist, yet."

"And that makes no sense."

She nods. "Exactly."

"Wow." I shake my head slowly. "Balducci could learn a thing or two about checking to make sure his system is bulletproof before flaunting the evidence in our faces like he did."

Nancy nods, side-smiling a little. She's still trying to sort it out in her head—seriously, I almost see the gears turning behind her blue eyes.

"Yeah. It's kind of lame," she adds, "especially for such a said "real detective" like him."

"What." I blink. "He called himself that? A real detective?"

Nancy rolls her eyes and closes them. Nods.

"Golly."

"I know right?" she laughs lightly, folding up the letter to Ruth and sliding it back into her bag.

"Well, I'd say we found enough evidence to bust him, what say you?" I reach for the maps, but Nancy plants her palm down on them first.

"Wait."

I raise an eyebrow. "What?"

She smiles. Probably at the eyebrow thing. "I don't want to screw this up."

I shrug one shoulder. "You're not going to—we just uncovered exactly what we need to throw in Tino's face and clear your name."

"I know," She looks down, biting her lower lip.

"...So what's the hold up?"

"I just don't want any drama. Y'know, looking like I'm trying to dig up dirt to throw back at Tino, because he hurt my feelings, or something." Nancy shrugs, pulling her hand away from the map.

I nod slowly. "Got it."

"Plus, if we find some more skeletons in his closet later on, it's just going to make us look sketchy if we keep busting him over and over."

"Right. So." I take a deep breath, leaning against the chest of drawers. "We just play it low-key for a while, and see what turns out?"

Nancy nods. "It's going to be irritating to keep our mouths shut, I know, but... yeah." She glances back up at me. "Do you think that's good idea?"

I smile a little. "Do you think I won't be able to keep my mouth shut?"

She laughs. "Oh, I have total faith in you." her blue eyes sparkling.

"You do?"

"Oh yeah." Nancy smiles, nodding again. "But. John Gray lent me some duct tape, just in case."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three: 4G Radiator Suspension (Joe Hardy)

"And then?"

"Then Nancy said she thought there was something about the map that's just…sketchy. And figured she should hold onto it; in case we need it in the near future."

Frank nods slowly, as I finish filling him in on everything he missed. "So... more dirt on Tino, huh?"

"Yeah, looks like." I yawn, looking up at my brother from where I am sprawled out on the floor, my back against the stiff mattress of the lower bunk. "But Nancy decided that we should just lay low for a while until we have something real to bust Tino for."

"Something other than being a jerk of a police detective, who has probably been involved in more unethical crap then he has been involved in solving cases?" Frank sighs.

I smile a little. "Dude. That's like the first nasty thing you've said about somebody in eighteen years."

Frank rolls his eyes. "Actually, I shouldn't say stuff like that, Joe. I really can't accuse the guy until we know the whole truth."

"Don't take it back," I cross my arms behind my head, slouching a little more. "That was awesome. I'll quote you on it someday."

"Anyway." Frank folds his hands on the small desk, (just big enough for his netbook) which is pushed into the corner of the tiny bedroom, next to the authentic antique sink. "I agree with Nancy—it's probably best to stay quiet about what we've learned…" he shuffles a handful of notepaper into order. "For now, anyway."

I nod slowly. "Yeah."

Frank's starts organizing the tiny mess that hardly even exists while I start spacing out. Everything in here is small and cramped and stuffy. Not to mention the pillows smell like somebody's basement and squish to a pancake when you so much as touch them. And I think our radiator is busted. It kicks on every ten minutes, and turns this closet of a bedroom into a sauna. Frank doesn't seem to be bothered by it, though—he just sits there at the tiny desk, wearing jeans and a black turtleneck.

I can tell when Nancy's got something stuck to her mind like superglue and can't get it off—she gets this dazed, numb look in her eyes, like if half her brain is really on the other side of the world, in somebody else's head.

I can tell that she's antsy about this whole deal—about wasting time tracking down Jake's lost mine somewhere it's definitely not going to be. Fleeing from Brimstone Canyon like it's the plague, when she knows in her gut that digging for gold wherever Tino points to is going to be an epic fail.

I've always been able to tell what's bothering her. Even though she didn't really believe me when we first met each other years and years ago. I told her I could read minds. And she laughed.

"Hello?" Frank's voice punches through my thick-headed daze.

I look up. "What?"

My brother rolls his eyes. "You've been spacing out like crazy tonight. We need to go over this stuff...?" He waves the violently scribbled-on ripped out notebook pages and printed-off forms in the air to illustrate their importance.

I scrunch my eyebrows together. "What stuff?"

"Weren't you paying attention?" Frank sighs, obviously disappointed in my lack of focus.

I sigh back. "No. Sorry."

He leans forward on the tiny wood desk and rubs his forehead with his index finger and his thumb. "What were you so distracted thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing being Nancy."

I scoff, or try to anyway, feeling my neck turning red. "No way. Just thinking about... random stuff." I shrug innocently, pulling my gaze back up to my brother. He's smiling.

"Cut it out, Frank." I straighten up, starting to feel the intense heat blasting off the radiator, which makes my tee shirt stick to my back. "Anyway is it just me, or is it a thousand degrees in here?"

My brother bites back a grin. "Uh sure," he shrugs, "you can open the door if you wish."

I sigh, "Yes. I do wish." and crawl over to the door, reaching up to twist the ancient tarnished knob and pull it open.

"Okay, so what was the stuff you wanted to go over?" I get to my feet and take two steps to cross the room, plopping down on the lower bunk (which can flip up into the wall to provide more space. Oh yay. How convenient. Two whole extra feet of space.).

Frank quietly unfolds his thick-rimmed glasses and slides them on, glancing back down at the small pile of papers. "Right. ATAC sent me our PI certification forms..."

"How?" I raise an eyebrow. "We're in the middle of nowhere."

Frank just looks at me like I have three eyes. "Um... did you ever hear of 4G?"

"Oh. Right." I close my eyes for a second, letting the back of my head smash into the wall as the train rattles over a bump. "How did you print them out?"

"...with a printer."

I sit up. "You brought a printer?"

"Ugh, Joe, can you please just stay focused for a second?"

"Fine," I whine, flopping down on my back to avoid further head injuries, and staring up at the underside of the top bunk bed. "Why did ATAC have to send us the stupid forms now? Don't they know we're out of town?"

"Of course they know," Frank leans forward on his elbows. "But news flash—we're not on mission. At least not for ATAC. So technically, we're on vacation."

"Oh wow." I cough, suddenly realizing that the radiator is built into the floor underneath this very bunk. "This is the best vacation everrrr."

At this point Frank doesn't even look up. "C'mon, man—at least Nancy's here."

 _Yeah, and she's the best part,_ I think, but definitely don't say. There is a short pause.

"Anyway, here's your certification form." Frank holds up a sheet of paper. Lines and text boxes and a little grungy black and white mug shot of me. "Come fill it out. Now."

"Throw it to me. Like a paper airplane."

"Stop being so immature." Frank gives me an unamused look over the rims of his glasses, which are slowly inching their way down his nose. "Get off your butt and come get it."

"Okay Mom. I'm coming." But I don't get up right away. Because unlike ATAC's mission briefing CDs, this piece of paper is not going to self-destruct.

If you ask me, the whole Private Investigator Certification Application deal that ATAC jams down our throats, is pointless. Frank and I have been involved with this organization ever since we were crowned with the glory of being teenagers. And still? Every two years, there are the application forms, lying in our mailbox.

Basically all they do is have me verify that I am indeed Joseph Hardy, and I do indeed work as an undercover detective for ATAC, and I would indeed like to continue in my position as a Private Investigator, and I do indeed understand the terms and conditions of holding this position, and so on and so forth. Wordy paperwork that I don't even read entirely.

I circle marks and check boxes and scribble my signature at the bottom. That's all they ask. Then I pop it in an envelope, (or apparently in this case, email, because Frank also brought a scanner) and send it back to ATAC's headquarters, where they'll renew my Private Detective ID, and send me a brand spanking new badge to keep hidden away so nobody will know that I work for ATAC... unless of course I absolutely need to flash it at somebody to save myself from certain death.

Frank has already filled out his form, apparently, and he is now typing a serious email to ATAC on his little black netbook. I pull myself off the bed and reach up to grab the sheet of paper from the desk.

"Pen?"

Frank gives me a look, "Pencil." and tosses me one.

"I don't get why ATAC makes us go through filling out these stupid forms," I nail the page to the wall with my palm, putting down my birth date on the first line.

He just sighs. "I know, it's lame and kind of outdated, but you know the rules."

"Yep, I know the rules." I roll my eyes. "ATAC is like my middle name. I don't need to fill out this piece of paper, to apply for another piece of paper that says, hurrah for you, Joe Hardy—you're still a Private Investigator with us. Here's a nice new glittery badge."

"Well whatever. Just do it, okay?" Frank looks up from his netbook. "Because if you don't get that thing in to ATAC by the deadline, you know what happens."

"Yes, I know what happens."

But Frank tells me anyway, just to hammer home his point about punctuality. "They will suspend your ID completely—and when that happens, you're in deep. You then have to personally show up at headquarters and go through a headache of a procedure to get your detective ID back." Frank messages his temples with his thumbs. "I've met a coupla agents who've gone through that, and apparently it's a nightmare."

I let out a sigh. "I know. The system is loco."

"I agree, but—"

"But, I'm being a good little boy and filling out the stupid form."

"Good." Frank gives me a suspicious eye, side-smiling ever so slightly, before turning back to his computer. "It's getting cold in here, can't you shut the door now?" he readjusts his glasses, continuing to type with his free hand.

"Cold?" I sigh and toss the form sheet onto my bed. "How can you sit there in a turtleneck and think it's cold. Feels like 80 to me."

"Please." He mumbles, punching the space bar with his thumb. Loudly.

"Okay, okay." I lower my voice a little, crossing the room in another two steps. "Whatever, old man."

In the hallway, the dark shades are pulled halfway down the windows, which look out to the blackness. Soft, dull lights lining the wall still keep everything somewhat bright. Everything feels so authentically old on this train, it makes you wonder if the thing is going to crumble underneath your feet. Like if there's a weak spot on the floor that you're going to fall through. Then bam. Squished on the tracks.

I suck a breath into my lungs, grabbing the door with one hand and starting to close it, when—

A reflection in the blackened window just outside our room makes my heart stop for a split second. And no, it's not my own reflection; it's past the door frame. Against the wall. Someone standing there, just outside our door.

I swallow, letting the door swing back open completely. Frank continues typing and I wait a few seconds. Then I step out swiftly into the hallway, literally crashing straight into whoever it is.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Watch it, kid!"

I stagger a few steps backwards.

"What's the big idea?" Tino sneers arrogantly, hands going into his leather pockets. "Isn't it kinda late for you to be up?"

… _It's ten._

I raise an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" he laughs, like if this is somehow a joke. "I think I have just as much right as anyone else to be here,"

"No I mean why are you hanging out in the hallway right by my door?"

He narrows his eyebrows, expression going suspicious. "And why are checking to make sure nobody's out here? Is there something you're trying to hide in there?" he nods stiffly towards the open bedroom door. Frank has stopped typing.

 _Something I'm trying to hide? Wow is this guy defensive or what._ "You're not answering my question,"

"Well you're not answering mine," he comes back, sounding annoyed. Hands out of pockets. "And I'm sorry but I believe I have more of a legal right to be answered first."

 _More of a legal right? Why, just because you're a cop?_ I can barely believe what I'm hearing.

I try to keep my blood from boiling long enough to reply. " _I'm_ not doing anything but minding my own business," I straighten up slightly to regain eye-contact. "And I would suggest that you do the same."

Tino shakes his head slowly, mumbling an unimpressed laugh. "And I would suggest that you be a little more careful with your implications." He lowers his voice a little. "They could get you in trouble one day, my friend."

I raise an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

There's a short pause while the ghost of a sick smile comes back onto his face. "I think you know what I'm talking about," And with that he leaves, nonchalantly sliding past me in the tiny hallway, and continuing to the other end of the train car.

I don't say another word. I just watch him go. He turns the corner. Door opens. Train noises. Door closes.

I unfreeze myself from the floor, slipping back into our tiny little stuffy hot bedroom, where Frank leans over the desk, watching me.

"What the heck was that?"

I slowly shake my head, pushing the door closed, making sure it clicks. "I don't really know, bro. I think Wonder Cop thinks we're up to something."

Frank raises an eyebrow questioningly. Doesn't say anything. Crossing the room, I stop at the desk, pushing the heels of my hands down on its wood surface.

"He was standing there before I went out into the hallway," I lower my voice to almost a whisper. "Just waiting outside our room. Listening."

Frank swallows, hoping I'm not implying what he thinks I'm implying. And of course I am. "So what is your point?"

I take a breath. "I don't know how long he was standing there. Or what he heard."

My brother nods slowly, leaning back in the antique desk chair. He doesn't speak for a full few seconds, pulling the collar of his black turtleneck up over his chin.

Long pause.

"Well then." Frank looks up finally, taking a breath. "We don't know. Let's just leave it at that for now."

I swallow. Nod.

Aside from Frank and I, Nancy is the only one who knows about ATAC and our positions there as undercover detectives—and she's sworn to not breathe a word. As Dad always described it to me when I was way little, "It's triple top secret." Blabbing means breaking the conduct.

If Tino heard too much, we're in deep. Way deep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: M&M Detective Superglue. (Nancy Drew's POV)

Tomorrow morning, we'll be in Copper Gorge.

Lori called everyone together in the dining car this afternoon and announced this news. Apparently we need to grab some supplies from the depot, before heading out to Scratcherd Bend. "And it'll be your last chance for a while to have some real food, instead of just this keep-forever stuff on the train," she said. This news seems to put everyone in a slightly better mood. Everyone except Detective Balducci, who has been holed up in Jake's car since yesterday's deal, poring over some "extremely compelling evidence" from which he "cannot be distracted."

Honestly, this whole thing is a mistake—and it's really starting to eat at me. In my gut, I know that it's absurd to be tracking down Hurley's mine in the _opposite_ direction of the place where all the arrows are blatantly pointing to. But I'm still trying to piece out what's really going on here—because something is lying under the surface, I can just feel it.

So before I start pointing fingers, I need to get my facts straightened out. If there's anything I hate like nothing else, it's being told that I simply do not have my facts straight.

Listen people. I am made of straight facts.

Anyway, I really don't see the point in getting myself into an argument with Tino Balducci; like Joe said, he obviously can't get over himself, and is just going to reject everything I say. Who is running this whole deal? Lori Girard. So now I've decided to channel my convicting towards her. After all, the engineer refuses to take orders from anyone else. So if there is a miniscule flicker of hope that we might be able to u-turn back to Brimstone Canyon? She definitely lies on the pink divan in the caboose with a good romance novel in hand.

"Lori, I really feel strongly about this—" I fold my hands in my lap, taking a seat on the opposite end of the uncomfortable antique couch.

She looks up, closes the hardcover and sets it down on the pillow beside her. "Feel strongly about what?"

I take a breath, trying to figure out how to phrase this. "...This train is headed in the wrong direction."

Lori sighs, shaking her head slowly. "We've been arguing about this like ever since we all boarded in Boulder."

"Denver." I correct.

She just tosses one pale, manicured hand. "Whatever." she sits up straighter. "The point is, this whole dispute thing is starting to feel like a soap opera. And not even the good, addicting kind with an underlying love triangle and an epic war sequence with cute guys in uniforms." Lori glances back down to me, her voice going flat. "It's like a lousy soap opera. Where the writer doesn't have any ideas left so he has somebody fall off a bridge, or something."

I purse my lips, sighing through my nose. "Look. Lori. We're not trying to argue here, or make a dispute out of anything."

"Well that's what it feels like to me, okay?" she knits her blonde eyebrows together, trying to look perplexed. "I can't stand everybody being at each other's throats, you know? It spoils the party." Short pause. "Besides, I already told everybody way far back that we don't really have a set destination, here." Lori shrugs. "That's why you guys are all here. So that we can discover whatever happened to Jake Hurley, and where in the world is his top secret mine? All of you people are supposed to be detectives, right?" she smiles. "Well, expect of course for Charleena Purcell. Being a romance novelist is like soooooo much more awesome."

I exhale my annoyance. "What about John Gray?"

"He's a ghost-hunter, right?" she gives me a no-brainer look. "Ghost-hunter, detective. Same thing."

… _Not really._

I clear my throat, straightening up. "Lori, I remember you once telling me that if I ever thought we needed to be heading to a particular place to find Jake Hurley's mine? You'd be sure to have the engineer take us there."

Lori just looks at me blankly for a moment, chewing on her glossy pink fingernails. "I did say that, didn't I?" she giggles nervously.

I nod.

"Well look Nancy. There's kind of been a change of plans." she lowers her voice a little, leaning her elbows on her knees.

I raise an eyebrow. "There has?"

She nods quickly. Determinedly. "It's Tino."

"What about him..?"

"He's just so..." Lori scans the ceiling, trying to pick out the right word. "..so set on this. On finding the mine, I mean. Piecing together Jake Hurley's past and everything. It's like he just lights up when you talk to him about it, it's so cute." she smiles, looking back to me. "And he's absolutely rock-solid sure about Jake's mine being at this Scratcher's Bend place."

"But what if it's not there?"

She blinks. "Natalie. He's a detective."

My eyebrows raise. "So am I,"

"I know, but—" Lori pauses, laughing pointedly. "Not like, for _real_. He's a police detective."

 _Oh yay. That makes everything perfect, doesn't it?_ Sorry for the lame sarcasm, I really am. But honestly? This is getting a tiny bit insufferable.

"And I just think that we owe Tino something, okay?" she plants one fist on her hip. "When I think about it, we're really so amazingly lucky to have him here with us. I don't think you realize. He's so helpful and resourceful."

….I want to puke.

"And he's almost like... the superglue that's holding this party together. Heroically piecing together this mystery while he's at it," she pauses, shrugging one shoulder. "If anyone deserves to call the shots about where Hurley's lost mine is, I think it's definitely Tino." she cocks her head a little, and for a split second, I almost think she's going to turn to me and ask me what I think—and then hopefully I won't scream and rip my own hair out and leave.

Lori turns to me, her voice empty and sounding bored. "Anything else?"

I swallow my annoyance, shaking my head quickly and standing up. "No. That's it."

/

I guess spring is finally start to rub off on this part of the country—the wimpy melting snowdrifts outside of Buell's are entirely gone, leaving everything just sort of blank and desolate and cold—it's amazing how the temperature can plummet once you climb further into the mountains.

The Copper Fork is actually really cute inside—carrying out the same rustic theme as everything else in this tiny unpopulated town. Red checks, counter, bright bold colors. Clean. Big picture windows lining the front, filling the whole place with bright morning sunlight. Warm kitchen noises swimming around, dishes and silverware clattering.

For a seemingly quiet place like this, the diner is actually quite full and bustling—even at this hour. Which is early. The train pulled into Copper Gorge sooner than expected, and even though half of our party was still asleep, Frank, Joe and I were all ready to go over whatever leads we have, and get out of the train to breathe for a little while. So it was coffee at The Copper Fork, and hot chocolate for Joe.

"Okay, I still don't get it." Joe glances up at me from across the table. "We've already gathered enough evidence to prove that Tino isn't as squeaky clean as all his adoring fans think he is. Obviously this is ridiculous to be trekking all the way to Scratcherd Bend to hunt down a mine that isn't even there," he gives me a look. "but…. we're not busting him?"

"I know," I lean forward slightly, resting my elbows on the red checked vinyl tablecloth. "The guy is going to be found out one way or another—it's just..human nature. But now the question is, should we be the ones to bust him, or should we just let him fall into his own trap?"

Frank crosses his arms, turning to face me. "How do you think he'll fall into his own trap?"

"This is what I figure—" I fold my hands on the table. "—when we get to this Scratcherd Bend place, Tino is obviously going to get off the train for an investigation."

Joe looks down into his mug of hot chocolate. With marshmallows. "The shortest investigation known to mankind."

"Exactly." I bring my palm down on the tablecloth. "We all know that there is going to be absolutely nothing to see there. So Tino announces his defeat—good. We call it a mistake. Then we present the facts that point to Brimstone Canyon as the place where Jake's mine is; then we head back there." I slowly let a sigh ease out of my lungs. "I know it's not very rock solid, and.. things don't always turn out as planned, but I really don't want to start pointing fingers at Tino over nothing." I shrug. "He probably just made an honest mistake about the whole map mix-up deal. It's not like dragging ourselves all over the mid-west is going to hurt anyone."

"Yeah," Frank sighs, annoyed. "except eat at our patience."

"True," I bite my lower lip, running my fingers through my strawberry blonde hair. "but it's not like we have many options, here. Tino is the kind of guy who is eager to flash his police badge and nab the first guy he thinks looks kind of sketchy. He jumps to conclusions. He was ready to put John Gray in stinking handcuffs and falsely accuse him of throwing the emergency brake, when _he_ was really the guilty one."

Joe shakes his head slowly, looking out the window to the slushy parking lot. "Unbelievable. Are you sure this guy's a licensed police detective?"

I nod. "Sadly," and turn back to my original point, "Anyway, what I'm getting at is this—I really don't want to wind up looking like a cocky finger-pointer who doesn't check her facts. It's not like going to Scratcherd Bend is going to be a detriment to anybody, so... I say we just let things take their course. For now. Tino will look like a fool, and that's just what we need everybody to realize about him." I shrug, glancing down at the little black buzzer thingie on our table, which begins shaking convulsively and flashing red lights.

Frank mumbles that he'll get it, and slides out of the booth.

A quiet pause elapses. I look back up to Joe, who has gone silent. "What do you think?"

"I agree with you," he slowly turns his attention away from the red Nissan trying to parallel park outside the diner. "As long as you don't feel like it could be dangerous... y'know, letting everything just fall into step. 'Cause we don't really know what Tino could be setting up, here."

I tilt my head to the side slightly. "How do you mean,"

"Like, take the whole emergency brake shenanigan for instance." Joe leans forward a little. Elbows on the table. "Balducci was practically framing John Gray, right?"

I nod slowly.

"And why? So he would get publicity as the hero wonder cop that cracked the case of the haunted train. Oh hurrah." Joe rolls his blue eyes sarcastically, smiling a little. "He's obviously full of himself and just wants fame and the accompanying fortune. But how far would he set things up?"

I chew my lower lip, pondering this. "Yeah, I see what you mean." Glancing back up to him. "So are you saying that it could be dangerous to just stand back for a while?"

Joe shrugs. "Possibly. I mean, what if things took an unexpected twist? What if he tried to frame one of us?" he pulls in a breath, letting it out again in a sigh. "I don't know, Nance. But there's obviously something sketchy about the dude."

"Agreed." Frank returns, sliding a plastic tray piled with breakfast onto the checked tablecloth, before taking the seat beside me in the booth. "I'd keep a close eye on him."

I nod slowly. "Right." my gaze floats back down to the tray of steaming food. "Who's M&M pancakes are those?"

Joe smiles and gives me a look. "Who's do you think?"

I laugh and stab a rainbow-dotted pancake off the pile with a fork. "Definitely mine."

"No way. You are so cruel." he shakes his head slowly. "You stole all the whipped cream."

Frank begins peeling the paper off of his multi-grain muffin, ignoring Joe and I completely.

"Sorry." I shrug, leaving blue and orange and red stains on the paper napkin in my lap. "I didn't know they served food from heaven," glancing around at the rustic, classic diner.

"They don't. Not usually." Joe shrugs. "But I've learned that what you look for, you will find."

I smile softly, wrapping my hands around the stout white coffee mug. "I wish that applied to everything."

"It does, actually." he forks another M&M pancake off the platter. "You can find anything. Anything. It just depends on how hard you're willing to look for it."

Frank shoots his brother a glance from across the table. "I coined that phrase."

Joe nods and swallows. "I know."

I laugh, snatching an orange M&M and popping it into my mouth. "You guys."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Nine Dollars (Joe Hardy)

"So. How long until we get there? How many hours?" I speak into the table, my forehead already planted in my notebook and taking fatigued roots.

"Well, we left Copper Gorge like two hours ago, so...that leaves us at approximately twelve hours, fourteen minutes, and fifty-two seconds until we arrive at Scratcherd Bend."

"Please don't tell me you knew that off the top of your head." I pull my face out of the doodled lined paper.

Frank holds up his cell phone, explaining all.

Yes, two hours ago. After lollygagging for a little while in Copper Gorge, our hostess finally decided this is boring, and whatever supplies we allegedly needed to collect had been collected. So now we are, once again, headed for Scratcherd Bend, like there's something to see there. But there isn't.

"Joe."

I snap out of it.

"What're you doing?" Frank just looks at me.

"Uh," I bring my gaze back down to the dusty, slightly-mildewy hardcover books sprawled open all over the table. I push one over to hide my robot doodles. "I don't know, anymore." I shrug. "Studying this stuff?"

My brother rolls his eyes chidingly. "I asked you a half an hour ago to please dig up some dirt on labor in circa 1880? Wages, work hours, that sort of thing?"

I press my knuckles into my head. "What are you talking about?"

He groans. Loudly. "We're supposed to be researching stuff. For the case? Or have you completely forgotten about that, too?"

I close my eyes to roll them. "No, I haven't, Frank. I'm sorry for spacing out." Short pause, while Frank silently forgives me. I think. "Now why the heck are we researching this boring stuff about the 1800's?"

"Because, according to this letter, dated 1879—" he waves a piece of old, unevenly-folded paper in the air. "—from the desk of Jake Hurley, he agreed to pay his engineer Thurston a wage of nine dollars a week. What would that be considered for his type of labor? Ridiculously low, normal, ridiculously high...?" Frank glances back up to me. "It could tell us something important about Hurley's relationship with the guy. So."

I shrug.

He sighs. "I'll do it myself,"

"Sorry man," I push back my chair at the table, standing up. "my head isn't really here tonight."

The dining car smells like laundry detergent and a hint of something old. Like a dead mouse in the wall. Orange light pooling down on the books. The empty chairs. Everything rattles quietly.

I cross the thick carpet and press the heel of my hand into one of the bookcases. "Twelve hours seems like a long ways to go out of the way."

"Well," Frank slams a book. "nobody else thinks that it's out of the way. Except for you and Nancy and I."

"Yeah, I know."

Short pause. Long pause.

"That's like..." my voice goes flat, "really really stupid."

Frank nods, thumbing through a thick paperback. "Uh-huh."

"Well, this is gonna be fun. Eventful."

He gives me a look. "Just make the most of it, I guess."

I nod slowly, flipping up the lid of the trunk. "Yeah... we're on a haunted train with a bunch of power-tripping adults."

"Don't let me hear you complaining, bro."

"Why not." I almost yawn.

"Who else is here besides the quote unquote 'adults'?"

"You."

"And who else?"

I chew the tip of my tongue. One less taste bud. "Nancy?"

"Dur. Nancy. So for you, this gig is like heaven. Am I right?"

I drop the lid of the trunk. Loudly.

"Would you boys please keep it down in there?" Charleena's voice barks through the doorway in her ticked off writer tone. (You know, the "please shut up" voice. I've heard it many times before, so I recognize it's pitch. Well.)

"Sure thing," Frank calls back.

I roll my eyes, dropping my voice low enough. "Writer's pet."

"Question avoider." my brother rests his chin on one fist. Like the thinker.

"You didn't ask me a question."

"I did. Maybe you didn't hear it." Frank smiles a little. Trying not to show it. Failing at his excellent poker face. "Haunted train, ancient unsolved mystery, _Nancy Drew_... what more could you ask for?"

I blush. And it shows. "I could ask for you to please shut up."

"So you're not denying your secret attraction to her, anymore. _Finally_."

"I don't have a secret attraction to her."

"Okay, fine. A secret infatuation then."

I open my mouth quickly to deflect that, but oddly my voicebox decides not to work.

"See? You know it's true." Frank glances up from the open dust-trap of a book in front of him, breaking into a smile as his gaze falls somewhere past my shoulder. "Hey Nance!"

My heart stops for a split second. But I should know better from the stupid grin plastered across my brother's face.

I tear around in the doorway.

Nothing. Nobody. Just the pecking from Charleena's computer. I take a breath, hoping that my ears aren't three shades redder, and turn back around.

Frank is laughing silently into his hands. "Your face."

I roll my eyes and cross the room, trying to resume my normal heart rate as I slouch into a stiff wooden chair at the table. "Can't we please just go back to researching the stupid 1800's wages or whatever?"

"I thought you were bored with that." Frank glances up. "Because you had other things, or should I say _people_ on your mind—…"

I throw a notebook at his head, but he quickly deflects the lame choice of ammunition with his forearm. He can do this because, unlike me, he was conscious during Judo class.

"Dude. Don't get violent."

"Speaking of violence, what time is it?"

Frank blinks. "How does that have anything to do with—"

"Please just tell me." I shove my face into my sweaty palms.

"Um. Four sixteen."

"That's it?"

"Guys. Thank goodness you're here." a new voice breaks into the lull, pushing up my heart rate a little.

 _I didn't even hear her come in..._

Nancy sweeps over to the table, pulling out a chair for herself. The chair next to mine.

I glance up. Straighten up.

Skinny jeans, white tee, blue knit shawl that matches her eyes. _Exactly_.

"Where else would we be?" I let a sigh ease out of my lungs. "I feel like I've been glued to this table my entire life."

Nancy doesn't reply directly—her eyes are somewhere else.

"What's eating you?" Frank leans forward on his elbows, one eyebrow raised.

She swings her navy blue backpack up onto the table, and it crash-lands with an impressive thud in the pool of old books. Pulls open the zipper. Digs around inside. Doesn't say anything yet.

"I'm just about ready to blow a stinking gasket." Nancy pulls both hands out of the pit of the backpack, empty. "It's gone."

"What's gone?" Frank asks.

Nancy lowers her voice a little, sounding desperate. "The letter to Ruth. I know for a fact that it was in here this morning before the train pulled into Copper Gorge. And now it's gone."

I straighten up a little more. "Are you positive it's not in your room, or anything?"

She turns to look at me, her eyes wide. Intense. Blue. "You wouldn't believe how many times I tore apart that little closet of a room." She runs her fingers through her flowing strawberry blonde hair. "And I retraced my steps a million times over... it's not like I pull things out of this hunk of a backpack very often." Nancy tosses one hand onto the table, motioning. "So I doubt that it fell out, or I lost it…"

Short pause.

"So..." Frank pauses, chin on fist. Thinking. "Why do you think someone would feel the need to steal it? I mean, what would be their motive?"

"Yeah, it's not like anybody here besides us thinks it's that important." I shrug one shoulder. "Charleena and Lori couldn't care less, John Gray is like... doing his own thing, and Tino Balducci thinks that letter has as much worth as a piece of chewed gum."

"True," Nancy nods slowly, looking down at the tabletop. "Tino did seem to think it's really useless in the search for Jake's mine... unless he needed it for another reason."

I raise an eyebrow. "Such as,"

Nancy opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off as the train car door slams shut, and Charleena sighs loudly, her quiet rule broken again. Then in walks none other than?

"Attention, kids." Tino feels the need to state this loudly, even though no one is speaking.

Nancy rolls her blue eyes and twists around in her chair to bring her gaze up to the police detective.

"I'd like to have everyone know that there's going to be meeting in here at six o' clock, called together by your's truly." he smiles slightly. Secretively. "Nancy probably recalls my once saying that I was on the verge of cracking open the case of what happened to Jake Hurley? His engineer, James Thurston?"

Nancy presses her lips into a thin line. Doesn't nod. Doesn't speak.

"Well, let's just say the light has finally been shed on all of this—and if any of you kids are interested in hearing what I've uncovered?" Tino takes a step backward towards the door. "You'll be there."

I raise an eyebrow, aching to know Nancy's opinion of all this. Wonder Cop's gaze lands on me for a split second, and his eyes narrow a little. Suspicion.

 _What did I do, man?_

Then he's gone. Nonchalant, average-Joe wave, so we all know that he's just a regular guy like us, he slips through the doorway. Probably going to tell Charleena about his "meeting".

"I heard everything," Charleena doesn't stop typing, "and yes, I'll try to make it. That is, if I am not completely lost in the thick and blackened forest of a plot coming together."

No words from Tino. Door opens. Door slams.

I turn back around to face Nancy and Frank. "Okay...?"

Nancy bites her lower lip. Reaches up and zips her backpack closed. "Six o' clock, then." she sighs, then smiles a little. "Bring popcorn."

I exhale a laugh into my fist.

Frank snaps a book closed, sending up a mushroom cloud of dust. He glances up, looking uncomfortable.

"What? Take a chill pill, Frank." I shrug and lean back into the horrible stiff chair. "It's not like Balducci's actually pieced together anything."

"And you know this because...?"

"You're right." Nancy straightens up. Pushes her glowing reddish hair over one shoulder. "We virtually don't know anything about what Tino has supposedly "uncovered"."

"So we should be unbiased." Frank adds.

Nancy nods, then turns to me.

I give her a look. That look. The eyebrow.

She just smiles. Blue eyes. Grabs her backpack and pushes back her chair. "I'll see you guys in a little bit."

Blue shawl swirling passed my chair, smelling like coconuts and vanilla. Then she's gone.

I let my forehead slam back into a notebook. Frank's notebook, hence the lack of doodles. And how everything is written perfectly inside the lines.

 _Why does she always have to leave?_

"Where do you think she's going?"

Frank shrugs distractedly, pushing his black-rimmed glasses onto his face. "I don't know... maybe to talk to John Gray, or Lori. Or Tino. Maybe to go call someone."

I prop my head up on my closed fist. "Call who?"

Frank glances over the rims of his glasses sullenly. "Why don't you go ask her."

"Okay fine, I'll stop annoying you." I roll my eyes. "Let's resume uh... researching."

"Why don't you get online and see what you can dig up in archives about fair wages in 1880?"

"Kay." I sigh, bored out of my mind, and pull out my cell phone. "Nine dollars a week sounds like dirt to me."

Frank rolls his eyes, but doesn't reply to that.

Home. Archives... this phone is so slow. ATAC loads these guys up with so much information, it's insane... more stuff than I'll probably ever use. But seriously. Why does she always have to leave?


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Blood on your hands (Nancy Drew)**

"Not too long ago, I told Nancy—" Tino's hand motions to me out of the corner of my eye, dragging my attention back down to earth. "—that I was on the brink of discovering something huge about what happened to Jake Hurley."

Lori, who is seated at the end of the table, folds her hands and smiles. Tino is standing, giving his speech (surprisingly without a teleprompter of any sort) and everyone else is trying to follow.

"And after some long and at times difficult investigating? I've uncovered the final piece—" Tino pauses pointedly, reaching into the deep pocket of his leather jacket and producing a withered paper envelope. "—of the puzzle."

There is a short silence.

"It's a letter," he thumbs open the envelope's flap carefully, almost like he's afraid to even touch the thing. "from Jake himself, addressed to Ruth Kensington."

My eyebrows raise. Both of them.

Tino gingerly slides the yellowed stationary out of its place, before glancing up at me, a slight smile daring to show itself on his face. "Nancy. Will you read it aloud to us? You have a clear, strong voice."

I shrug modestly, not really feeling in the mood for flattery from this guy—but take the letter silently and sullenly. I quickly unfold the letter, push my chair back and stand up, taking in a breath of the stale oxygen floating around the dining car.

Charleena stops typing.

For a moment, I feel Joe's gaze burning across my cheek. I then feel everyone's eyes focused on me, on the letter in my hand.

I clear my throat. And begin to read aloud all that is printed:

 ** _1 October, 1903,_**

 ** _from somewhere in Nevada_**

 ** _Dear Ruth,_**

 ** _I am entirely aware that this letter will probably never make its way into your hands, and in fact, may never make its way off this train at all. I have no one to write to, not one living soul to communicate with. I first designed this train to be a collector of sweet, timeless memories for me—but it has become like a cage, and I am the bird ensnared inside it. I will never be able to get out._**

 ** _Something quite astounding overtook me yesterday, and I do not think I can bring myself to tell in detail of its account—I witnessed it, and I took part in it. I was the cause of it. And now, if I told you of it, I am afraid that I would be shunned and estranged from you, which would be unbearable for my wretched soul. I would rather die than lose you as my dear friend, one who I can write ambiguous letters such as this to, and know that the eyes of my own flesh and blood are reading what I have penned._**

 ** _I must confide in you on this account: I have blood on my hands._**

I pause here for a split second. Then clear my throat and read on.

 _ **The man should have known what he had coming—he had the nerve to follow me all the way into the crags of Blue Moon Canyon, tracking me down like some sort of animal. A thief is all he was. He seemed a traitor to me the moment that he bartered through my employing him as engineer, literally taking the bread from my mouth. Did he think me an unjust man? Was I? Am I?**_

 _ **Everything seemed correct then, when I first set off, a new explorer on the desolate sands of this strange country. Never would I have guessed that this whole endeavor would end in demise. And Camille, my sweet Camille, who cries and sings to me through the ghostly hallways of her train, would despise me for what I've done. I have blood on my hands—stained forever into my hands.**_

 _ **She would never forgive me. And you, now, will never forgive me, for what I have done.**_

 _ **It was wrong of me. But maybe it was what had to be done, considering the course of events.**_

 _ **Either way, I am a cursed man in this world.**_

 _ **I don't beg your forgiveness, for I know that I do not deserve it. This is the last letter you will receive from me.**_

 _ **I cannot live with my shame.**_

 _ **Kindest regards,**_

 _ **Jake Hurley**_

I take a breath, my eyes wandering down to Jake's insignia, which is stamped boldly on the page under his name in print.

A stunned silence settles around the table. I give the letter one last scrutinizing glance, before folding it up and handing it back to Tino.

I sit back down.

"Astonishing." Tino breaks the odd lull of quiet, sliding the withered paper back into its envelope. "I'm sure you're all just as shocked and confused as I was myself, when I first uncovered this."

Short pause. Charleena closes her laptop. Joe leans forward on his elbows, waiting for the punchline. As do I.

"Now, since the evidence is pretty obvious, I'm sure we're all on the same page, and could piece this puzzle together no sweat—but just so everything is clear, I'll explain the underlying truth here, so we can finally come out of the dark on this.." Tino seats himself again, folding his hands on the tabletop in front of him. "So. It all started with Jake Hurley hiring this James Thurston to be the engineer on his train. Hurley never trusted Thurston completely—always thought he was out to steal from him. Actually, Hurley was kind of a paranoid guy, so this is understandable. Every time Hurley needed to get to his mine, he'd have Thurston drop him off someplace nearby, and arrange for Thurston to meet him at a predesignated spot, to pick him up again. It seemed like a good setup for a while. But it wasn't bulletproof." Tino pauses for a moment to glance around—study our expressions. "When Thurston took the train off course to follow Hurley and see if he could map out where exactly his secret mine was, Thurston wound up in Blue Moon Canyon. Hurley was infuriated that his engineer had gone this far to presumably steal from him—and he knew that Thurston would be poisoned by his thirst to go after what Hurley kept secret in his mine.

"So, out of either a spontaneous reaction, or out of a deep-seated hatred he harbored for the guy for a quite some time... I think it's pretty clear what happened that day."

Long silence.

Muffled train noises, rolling underneath us.

Nobody speaks.

"Jake Hurley murdered him." Tino declares, like that's the truth. "And ran. And probably killed himself. Some time afterward, Thurston was found dead in the engine of Jake's train, with the door shut up and locked, like he was scared out of his mind about something. All the dots connect."

I bring my gaze down to the table, sorting all this out in my head. A sick feeling finding its way into the pit of my stomach. The story is starting to make sense. I really hate to say it, but.. maybe Tino is right.

"Now." Tino breaks the silence again, taking a breath. "I know that this all might sound kinda far-fetched, but... it's simply the truth. Everything falls into place just as it should." he pauses to let out a dry laugh. "And I've seen more than my share of things _not_ falling into place as they should. So. It might seem kind of hard to swallow this... gruesome past of Jake Hurley's, but.." he shrugs one shoulder. "I believe that the facts are pretty obvious."

There is another short pause.

"Interesting story." Charleena nods slowly, almost approvingly. "Finally, something a bit more literature-worthy."

"Yeah, see?" Tino points a finger at the writer. "We all know that there had to be something way more thrilling lying underneath the surface here."

Like we wanted Jake Hurley's past to be thrilling and novel-worthy? Who cares.

Tino glances around at everyone's expressions in the aftermath of this, obviously pleased with himself. "Any questions."

What _is_ this, anyway?

I pull a breath of warm oxygen into my lungs, suddenly feeling the need to get some fresh air. Now. Pushing back my chair, I quietly slip around the table and through the doorway. Feeling someone's gaze following me the whole time. Past the kitchenette, out the heavy iron door.

Hearing the muffled voice of John Gray, pointing out the mention of Camille's ghost in the letter. Then everything inside is cut to a silence as I let the old door seal itself closed behind me, stepping out onto the platform jetting off the end of the dining car.

Rolling, deep grumbles from the train's wheels. Chilled, blackened air wrapping around my shoulders. Around my face. Breathing through my hair and messing it all up.

I exhale slowly, leaning down against the steel railing. Cold on my bare arms.

Everything is like a swooshing black tunnel rushing around the train. No real light, except for the nearly-burned-out bulbs mounted beside the doors to the train cars.

A few long moments pass with only the pulsing of the wheels on tracks to burn through the quiet.

Then I hear the heavy iron door squeal open behind me, a wave of soft light bouncing outside and fanning across the platform. It closes. Darkness again.

I feel his presence beside me a few seconds later.

"I'm okay." I breathe out the words, answering the question before it's even asked. "I just... I don't know. It feels so absurd."

"Yeah, I know."

Short pause. I sigh.

"Let's walk the roof of this train car." Joe turns to me after a long moment.

I let out a laugh. "You're insane. No way."

He blinks. "Yeah, I'm insane. But I'm serious." he glances up at the softly-glowing platform leading up to the next car. "I've always wanted to try this—especially at night. Come on." Joe steps to the edge, getting ready to jump over the coupler.

"No. You can't." I straighten up, tightening my grip on the railing. "That's so dangerous—especially at night."

Joe turns to me, pausing. "...and your point is?"

"My point is, it's dangerous." I try to bite back a little smile that insists on pushing itself onto my face. "You could get yourself killed, and then where would we be?"

He sighs. "We would still be on our way to Jake Hurley's nonexistent mine at Scratcherd Bend." he takes one step back onto the platform, glancing up to meet my gaze. "Because Wonder Cop won't let anything get in his way, _obviously_."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah well. Just don't do it, okay? This isn't a James Bond movie."

Joe laughs. "Prove it."

"Come on, I have a better idea." I slip past him and swing myself over the gap of rushing rails below.

"Better than running the roof of a train?" Joe sounds skeptical, but follows anyway. "What is it. Grilled cheese?"

I shove my eyebrows together, smiling a little. "What? What is wrong with you tonight?"

Joe shrugs, passing me to push through the shrieking iron door, and holding it open for me as I step through. "The same thing that's always wrong with me."

I raise an eyebrow, entering the dully-lit stuffy warmth of the sleeping car. "And what's that?"

Door clicks shut.

"Insanity, I think." he shrugs a shoulder. "Right?"

I shake my head slowly, biting back a smile. "I love your insanity, Joe."

His blue eyes widen a little, smiling almost fading instantly. "You do?"

"Sure." I nod, trying to ignore the one-eyed ram staring down at me. "Everyone always pretends to be so sane and sure of themselves. And it usually turns out that they're not." I cross my arms, leaning back against the old fading wallpaper.

Joe raises an eyebrow. "And you?"

I sigh. "I can't claim sanity."

"Oh please." Joe rolls his eyes. "You're like the most stable person on this train, and everybody knows it."

I make a face and turn to walk the other way. "Flattery."

"Modesty." he follows. "Do you realize how bad everything would suck if you weren't here?"

I feel a smile pushing itself onto my face, but I continue my quick pace through the hallway, not stopping. "Oh come on. It wouldn't be that bad."

"Are you kidding me? I mean, at least I'd have Frank to keep me from going completely mad, but.. you're like the only one that I can really talk to here." Joe's voice quiets a little. "The only one that gets me. The only one who's... amazing and smart and fun and sweet and.."

I pause at the painted floral side table shoved into the corner. "And?" Not turning to face him yet.

"And.. the only one who's willing to just goof off once in a while. Forget about playing by the rules, and just have fun for the heck of it." Joe lets out a short laugh. "That's why I say that you're like the only sane one here. Because you know how to be real, instead of this stupid fake personality, like everybody else is, y'know? You're just real, and that's one of the reasons why I love—" he stops himself before he can finish the sentence.

Out of nowhere, I feel my heart skip a beat.

I slowly turn around on my heel to look at Joe, who's face has already gone slightly pale, his blue eyes searching for something.

Pause.

I cock my head to the side slightly and hope with every fiber of my being that he'll finish.

He snaps out of his slight daze. "..that's.. why I love hanging out with you, whether it be working on a case together, or just y'know. Being together." he shrugs one shoulder, managing a slight side-smile.

"Yeah," I nod quickly, a little spark of something inside my chest disappearing suddenly. But I smile. "you're right—it's totally awesome hanging out together. It's a crime in and of itself that we can't do this more often. Sleuthing with you and Frank is like ten thousand times better than doing it on my own."

"Really?"

I nod again, smiling a little.

"Uh, I mean yeah—" Joe blushes slightly, refocusing. "—I agree. Ten thousand times better. Not like Frank is boring to sleuth with, or anything, it's just that.. you're so much more.." he tries to find the right word. "I mean, it's like, when you're here, everything is way more like..."

I bite back a ghost of the tiniest smile.

"Yeah. It's like you said." Joe shrugs one shoulder, giving up on trying to piece together the last sentence. "Way more awesome hanging out together." he clears his throat awkwardly, brushing past me around the corner to grab the door and hold it open.

I nod, smiling. "Why, thank you," And stride through the door, out onto the next platform.

"So." Joe lets the door slam shut, ignoring the quiet rule. "Where exactly are we headed?"

I smile again. "You'll see."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Ink Palm Garbage Digger (Joe Hardy)**

"Oh come on. It wouldn't be that bad."

"Are you kidding me?" I follow close behind Nancy as she wanders down the stuffy wallpapered hallway. "I mean, at least I'd have Frank to keep me from going completely mad, but.. you're like the only one that I can really talk to here." My pace slows a little as we near the end of the sleeping car. "...the only one that gets me. The only one who's..." Right words, where are you? "amazing and smart and fun and sweet and.."

Nancy stops altogether, her voice coming out soft. "And?"

"And.." I smile a little, shrugging one shoulder. "the only one who's willing to just goof off once in a while. Forget about playing by the rules, and just have fun for the heck of it." I exhale a short laugh. "That's why I say that you're like the only sane one here. Because you know how to be real, instead of this stupid fake personality, like everybody else is, y'know?" I glance up at the back of Nancy's head, her strawberry blonde hair. Looking like gold in the low lighting. The words come out before I can even think, fully. "You're just real, and that's one of the reasons why I love—"

 _Whoa. Stop talking._

I almost have to bite my tongue to hold in that last syllable. But I almost said it.

My face goes pale I think, even though it feels like my head is burning inside. Nancy slowly turns around to face me.

Her eyes wide. Blue.

A long silence elapses, taking forever. I have to say something, but I can't.

She raises an eyebrow, tilts her head slightly to the left. Or the right. I don't know which. There's something about the way she looks tonight. The dingy lighting in here makes her eyes look different—almost turquoise. Sparkling. I get distracted reading her face for a few seconds.

Then I snap out of my slight trance. "..That's.." I manage to find my voice. "why I love hanging out with you, whether it be working on a case together, or just y'know. Being together." I somehow figure out how to push a side-smile onto my face.

"Yeah," Nancy nods, smiling. "you're right—it's totally awesome hanging out together. It's a crime in and of itself that we can't do this more often. Sleuthing with you and Frank is like ten thousand times better than doing it on my own."

I raise an eyebrow, my heart rate quickening a little. "Really?"

She nods again, that sweet smile.

"Uh, I mean yeah—" _Stop blushing_. "—I agree. Ten thousand times better. Not like Frank is boring to sleuth with, or anything, it's just that.. you're so much more.." _This is torture_. "I mean, it's like, when you're here, everything is way more like..."

Nancy tries to hide a smile—I can see it.

"Yeah. It's like you said." I clear my throat awkwardly, "Way more awesome hanging out together." I slide past Nancy to hold open the door for her.

She nods and acknowledges this. "Why, thank you," that smile. She passes through the doorway, out onto the platform. Vanilla and coconut.

I refocus—or try to anyway, following her outside and letting the door slam shut. "So. Where exactly are we headed?"

"You'll see."

She loves to torture me like that. I don't get it. But I don't ask questions—just follow her lead as we pass through Camille's car, where all is freakishly quiet except for the alien-ish bleeps coming from John Gray's makeshift ghost lab, or whatever.

Finally, Nancy motions for me to follow her into Jake's study—or rather, _Tino's study_. Beg your pardon. This is where Wonder Cop has been executing his "extremely important investigations", acting like he's the next best thing to Jake Hurley.

"I thought.." Nancy pauses beside the bookcase, turning to me. "now would be a good time to poke around in here, seeing as Tino's all occupied with his "meeting" deal."

"Smart." I nod, glancing around the low-lit room.

She smiles a little, crossing the faded rug and stopping before the dark wood desk.

"Also smart to come here first," my gaze falls to the side table pushed up against the wall. "because out of anyone, we need to investigate Tino's stuff the most."

"Exactly." Nancy nods, stepping behind the desk, and not hesitating to yank out the first drawer.

"So." I perch myself on the edge of the table, beside a seriously authentic top hat. "...is that why you left? To come here and poke around?"

She shakes her head slowly. "Not really."

"Why then?"

"I dunno, it's just.." Nancy shrugs, sifting through a stack of ripped-open envelopes that she had pulled out of the drawer. "I'm sick and tired of it. I'm sick and tired of talking about all the different things that could've happened to Jake Hurley. And something was up with that letter, by the way."

"Yeah." I nod slowly. "...what do you mean, something's up with it?"

She scrunches her eyebrows together, looking up at me for a moment. "I don't know. There's just something not... right about it."

I nod again. "Yeah, it's kinda weird, when you think about it. I mean, did Tino even say where he found this letter? And why would Jake Hurley kill—" I stop myself, sliding off the edge of the table. "Sorry. Let's not talk about Jake Hurley."

Nancy laughs dryly, sliding the drawer shut and moving onto the next one. "It's okay. That's all anyone wants to talk about, anyway."

"Not everyone." I shrug, my gaze wandering past the lizard board game set up on the side table. "Not me."

"I know." Nancy smiles a little, rifling through the drawer... loudly. "But you're not like everyone else. And that's why I wanted to hang out with you instead."

I look up. "Really?"

She nods. Shuts the drawer. "Of course." she takes a deep breath, scanning the desktop. "That's another reason why I love hanging out with you, because we don't have to talk about the... politically correct stuff. Like the weather and roads, then the mystery and Jake Hurley and finding the mine. We don't have to talk about that stuff—we can just talk about anything. And everything." Nancy smiles a little, placing her hands on the desk. "Even if it makes absolutely no sense. Even if it's silly and stupid and off-topic."

"Yeah," I nod slowly, losing my focus. "I love that."

Nancy pauses. "Love what?"

I blush a little for no reason at all, fidgeting with a lizard. "I don't know... how we can talk about _everything_. I love that."

She smiles softly, picks up a stack of hardcovers on the desk.

I read her so well. Seriously. She isn't going to be able to pry her mind off the case or the letter from Jake Hurley. Or Jake Hurley. Even if I start ranting about grilled cheese. She's going to talk about Jake Hurley. In a minute.

I let the game piece slide back into its spot on the board beside me, bored with this quiet.

"So, let's talk about something."

"What." Nancy sighs and plops the books down with a thud.

I shrug. "Anything. We just agreed that we can easily talk about anything, right?"

"Right."

"Except Jake Hurley."

She gives me a look. Trying not to smile.

"Anyway, so. Grilled cheese."

"You know, there was something really sketchy about that letter Tino pulled out of nowhere."

 _See? Told you._ I bite back a grin and nod. "Yeah," then glance up. "what did it look like, anyway?" I raise an eyebrow, listlessly running my fingertips along the board game pieces. "You were the only one who got to see it.. did you notice anything weird about it? Something that looked inauthentic, maybe?"

She shakes her head slowly, after a few seconds of pondering. "Not really.. except for the fact that Jake Hurley sounded guilty as sin."

"Yeah." I let out a dry laugh, picking up Hurley's custom insignia stamp and studying the backwards JH mold on the bottom. "It doesn't seem like much of a reason to up and murder your engineer, unless the guy was a raging maniac. Just because he suspected Thurston of wanting to steal from him?" I let the chunky metal stamp roll around in my palm. "It's just..." My voice fades completely. "Whoa."

"What?" Nancy notices my expression, which is probably pretty freaked out, as I stand here and stare down at my hand.

"Check this out." I cross the floor, stopping at the desk and holding out my palm for her to see the ink stains all over my skin.

"What? What is that from?" Nancy pushes her eyebrows together.

"It's ink. From Jake Hurley's insignia stamp thingie on the table over there," I nod towards the other end of the car.

"That's weird."

"Yeah."

"Why would it have ink on it? Nobody's used that thing in years, probably."

I nod. "Exactly. Somebody must've used it. Recently." I pause, biting my lip. "Like, today."

Nancy glances up, and something in her eyes clicks with a sudden realization.

"By any chance, was Jake's insignia stamped on that letter you read to us?"

Her blue eyes widen. "Oh my gosh."

"It was?" my eyes almost pop out of my head. "Dude, that means—"

"Wait wait wait." Nancy straightens up. "Let's not... jump to conclusions here," she pushes aside the antique study chair, and crawls underneath Tino's desk.

"...What are you doing?"

She doesn't reply—pulls her head out after a few seconds, producing a trash basket. "I know it's gross, but.. we kind of have to." Nancy dumps the contents of the garbage all over the desk, tossing aside the empty basket.

"It's not that gross. Just paper stuff." I shrug, looking over the mound of torn and crumpled pages. "The worst thing we could possibly find is chewed gum."

"Ew." Nancy makes a face. "Let's hope not."

So we both begin to silently pick through the trash, un-crinkling papers and trying to piece together shredded notes. I smooth out a wrinkled, yellowy page in my palm, scanning the shaky handwriting.

 ** _1 October, 1903,_**

 ** _from somewhere in_**

"Hey Nance. Look."

She takes the paper from my hands, reading silently for a moment. "I just found something exactly like this," she pushes another identical wrinkled page into my inky palm, and my eyes quickly take in the same writing. Nancy continues to rummage through the spilling-over pile of papers.

 _ **1 October, 1903,**_

 _ **from somewhere in Nevada**_

 _ **Dear Ruth,**_

 _ **I am**_

I swallow, my pulse starting to quicken a little. "Unbelievable." It floats down from my hand to the desk.

"And here's another." Nancy gives it to me.

Same deal.

 _ **1 October, 1903,**_

 _ **from somewhere in Nevada**_

 _ **Dear Ruth,**_

 _ **I am entirely aware that this letter will probably never make its way into your hands**_

The squiggly handwriting goes darker towards the end of the line, where it abruptly stops.

"It's like they were trying to copy someone else's hand.. and just couldn't get it right," Nancy muses, pulling open another tightly-balled-up sheet of paper.

"Yeah. It's called forgery." I nod slowly, gathering up all the unfinished drafts of Jake Hurley's "letter to Ruth" in one hand. "And last time I checked, squeaky-clean cops with a reputation don't mess around with forgery. This—" I hold up the fist-full of yellowed papers. "—is just the kind of evidence we need to bust Tino with. Funny how your letter from Jake Hurley went missing right before Tino came up with this letter, huh?"

"I know." Nancy glances up from the pile of papers. "It's freaky. Why would Tino fake that letter from Jake Hurley?" she shrugs. "I mean, what's the point in making up some gruesome story, then telling everybody that it's Hurley's past?"

"Maybe Balducci just wanted to look like he really did crack the case of whatever happened to Jake Hurley," I shrug a shoulder, leaning back against the desk. "Maybe he was tired of making promises and making himself look good, but never actually pulling through."

"Yeah." Nancy nods slowly, turning to face me. "If he turned out being the one who discovered Jake's secret mine, and pieced together what happened to him, I guess that would make him look like the hero in all this," she rolls her eyes. "It's so lame."

"Yeah, but he's not going to find the mine." I straighten up, folding the papers in my hand and slipping them into the pocket of my denim jacket. "Not at Scratcherd Bend."

"I know." Nancy nods slowly. Thinking.

"..I say we make our case." I say, and Nancy looks up. "I mean, don't you want to head back to Brimstone Canyon before Balducci pulls another idiot scheme? He's so busted. Forgery is serious stuff. Especially for a police detective who goes around busting other people for that kind of thing. We have enough dirt on Tino to prove what a fake he actually is."

Nancy glances up at me after a long moment—lips pursed. "I don't know." she scrunches her eyebrows together a little, looking perplexed. "I don't think we should bust him yet."

"What? Why the heck not?"

"I just…" she pauses, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm not feeling like it's the right thing to do, yet. I think we should play our cards pretty wisely at this point. I'd definitely like to keep an eye on Tino, but I don't think we should confront him with all this just yet." she pauses for a minute to give me a look. "Are you cool with waiting a little while longer?"

I blow out a slightly annoyed sigh. "Yeah, I guess so."

"I just have a lot of questions still, you know?" Nancy slides off the edge of the desk. "I'd like to find some of the answers to them before we make our case," she reaches for the wicker trash basket and starts to shovel the pile of papers back inside. Replacing it underneath the desk.

I sigh again. "Alright. But it's going to be especially hard to keep our mouths shut, now. I'd give pretty much anything to show these unfinished letters to Tino. Watch the blood absolutely drain from his face."

"Aw, c'mon." Nancy whacks my shoulder lightly. "We're not supposed to delight in nabbing the bad guys."

I blink. "Says who."

"Says me." she smiles.

And just then, the lull of quiet is busted as the train car door slams open. We both jump a little, and Nancy quickly weaves around the desk, pulling me across the room with her. Taking my arm. Her hands are warm and soft.

She leans closer to my ear to whisper, "Act normal. Casual."

I nod. And we somehow manage to get through the doorway and out into the narrow hall, just before _the_ Tino Balducci almost crashes into us.

"So, what were you saying about grilled cheese?" Nancy turns to me, her voice light. Smiling.

The police detective shoves past us and into the study, not even looking twice. But I still feel his gaze burning through the back of my neck as Nancy reaches out and pulls open the big iron door.

"Um." I try to refocus, catching the door, "Grilled cheese? What?" and I smile, despite all the weirdness. "What is wrong with you tonight?"


	8. Chapter 8

_**A quick note to my readers:** Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up! I've had a cold and been very busy over the holidays. I appreciate your reviews and I hope you're still around! :) Enjoy this chapter. _

* * *

**Chapter Eight: You don't even have my number. (Frank Hardy)**

"Oh please. The man was obviously mentally disturbed by the loss of his wife." Charleena rolls her eyes, shooting a look across the table at John Gray. "I hardly call that paranormal activity, dear."

John Gray looks cynical, coming back with, "Mentally disturbed? Did you miss the word "ghost" in there?"

"If I am recalling this correctly, Jake Hurley used the adjective _ghostly_ to describe the hallways of this train." Charleena states.

… _..this is fun._

Seriously, though. Nancy smartly skipped out on this meeting like twenty minutes ago—Joe right behind her. Leaving me to survive this debate as the only sane person here. And I'm supposed to be listening. Carefully.

At this point, I'm tempted to just start my voice recorder, tuck it underneath the tablecloth, and get out of here for a while—then Joe can later have the pleasure of sifting through the recording for anything worthy of note. Actually, that could work. But am I really going to do it? Of course not. Because firstly, that would look incredibly rude. And if Tino Balducci couldn't take Joe and I seriously before? Imagine what he would think if we all just got distracted and left. So I'm virtually stuck here.

"Mr. Balducci." Charleena turns, unamused, to the police detective who is now slouched in his chair, annoyed. He straightens up at this kind of formal address. "Please show us the proof."

"Proof?" he places one hand down firmly on the envelope containing the letter from Jake Hurley. "What do you mean?" his face pales slightly.

I know what guilty looks like.

Charleena sticks out one palm. "The proof that Jake Hurley wasn't talking about a tangible ghost of Camille."

I lean forward on my elbows, studying his expression—which I'll have you know is very important. Especially in a discussion like this.

"Oh sure." Tino clears his throat, peeling the withered envelope off the table and handing it to the writer. "You can all have a look—just keep it moving so everyone can see, and don't soil it with your greedy little fingers." Tino shoots me a glance at the last part of that sentence.

I let my eyes close just to roll them.

"Please. Do you really think I am ignorant when it comes to handling old documents like this?" Charleena scoffs, unfolding the paper's creases and fixing her glasses.

No one speaks for a whole few awkward moments. Lori watches everything transpiring, resting her chin on her clasped-together hands. She notices my gaze after a split second, and sends me a little smile from across the table.

I try to return it without looking like a total awkward dork, just as Charleena clears her throat and breaks the weird silence.

"Ah. Here. Quote, "My sweet Camille, who cries and sings to me through the _ghostly hallways_ of her train, would despise me for what I've done." End quote." the writer glances up and smiles smartly at John Gray, who's face goes blank for a moment.

Charleena passes the letter to Lori, who only makes a grossed-out face and slides it over to the ghost hunter.

"Yes. But." he holds up a finger, making us all wait for it. "Paranormal activity is expressed through tangible sources. Take.. a hallway, for instance. How could Jake Hurley have possibly heard her crying and singing—both very sensual verbs—if it weren't Camille—"

"I've already told you." Charleena cuts in, rolling her eyes again. "The man was unwell in his mind."

"So you're saying he went crazy." John Gray looks at her.

"...How would I know? I really haven't the slightest idea of what happened to the man. All I am saying, is that when a soul is deeply and passionately in love with another—"

The ghost hunter groans. "None of this sappy stuff, please?" he looks up dubiously. "This isn't a romance novel."

Charleena just stares at him. "It could be." and then she leaves. Seriously. She just stands up and doesn't say another word—turns and disappears through the doorway, and we all feel the train car shake a little as the door slams hard.

Tino looks annoyed. This probably isn't going as he planned. But none of us really thought we'd end up debating the existence of ghosts.

Everything falls into an awkward silence while John Gray looks over the letter for himself, before slowly pushing back his chair and making his way around the table; Lori quickly jumps her chair closer to the table to give him a few more inches to step by, even though there was already plenty of room before.

Then he tries to leave as well. But Tino stands up and steps in the way, barricading the door. "This—" he reaches down and tears the letter out of John Gray's hand. "—belongs to me."

My eyebrows raise halfway up my forehead. _Oh really._

The ghost guy just looks at him for a few tense seconds, before Tino clears his throat, pushes past him and slams out the door. Probably just so he can be the first to leave. And then? Guess.

John Gray scoffs and mumbles something about somebody being on a power trip, glancing back at the table for a split second. Shakes his head like we're all a bunch of losers. Then he's gone too.

Do you know who this leaves in the room? Yeah. Lori. And me. Naturally, I run out of words before I even say anything.

"So..." she sighs through a smile, turning slowly to face me. "..you're kinda quiet. What do _you_ think about all of this?"

I shrug one shoulder, straightening up a little. "Uh, I don't know. It's certainly interesting."

Lori laughs dryly. "It's certainly disgusting more like." she shudders. "I mean, that's like sooo gross—Jake Hurley going around _killing people_?" her eyes go wide. "I mean, like. I thought it was gross enough with the whole thing about the engineer being found dead on board and stuff.." Lori pauses to bite her lip. "I never would'a guessed that Jake murdered him. That's so.. horrible. Ugh."

Short pause.

I try to say something. "Yeah. Horrible."

She laughs. "You sound enthused."

I look up to meet her gaze, raising an eyebrow.

"I was kidding." Lori explains flatly. "Y'know. Sarcastically."

"Right." I clear my throat awkwardly. "Yes. I didn't mean to sound unenthused. I was just.. y'know. Thinking. About.. everything."

Lori smiles, folding her pale hands on the table. "Mhm. I can totally see the gears in your head spinning like a million miles an hour."

I blush like an idiot, looking down from her gaze.

"Well, it's late. I'm tired." Lori yawns loudly, to illustrate her fatigue, and pushes back her chair. "But y'know, after hearing that story about creepo Jake Hurley running around like an ax-murderer, it's kind of unsettling, going back to my room all by my lonely little self.." she glances up at me, somehow making her blue eyes look like she's about to burst into tears. "Would you escort me back to my room, Fran?"

 _FRAN?_

I stand up. "Uh, sure." Clear my throat. "And it's.. Frank. Hardy."

"Frank?"

"Right."

"Got it." Smile.

I glance down to make sure I pocket my glasses, before heading for the train car door.

"Don't you think it's kind of lonely on this train, especially at night?" Lori follows, stepping through the doorway as I hold it open for her.

"Um, yeah I guess so." It closes quietly behind me.

"I mean, it's like almost.. ghostly." she hops over the coupler and onto the next platform. "I can see why that John Gray guy thinks this train is haunted. And you know what?"

My phone in my jean pocket vibrates. New text.

I decide to ignore it, because checking my phone right now would look so rude. And Lori is waiting for me to open the door for her.

"What." Stepping up, I pull it open and wait for her to go through.

"I guess some of you more practical people would think I'm like nuts for saying this, but..." She pauses in the soft glowing light leaking outside, glancing up seriously at me. "I think her ghost is still here."

"Who's ghost?" I raise an eyebrow.

Lori snorts a laugh and rolls her blue eyes, turning and skipping inside. "Camille, duh!"

My phone vibrates again. Please stop.

"Oh. Right." I trail behind her, stepping inside the dull quietness of the sleeping car. Door closes. "Yeah."

"You mean you think so too?" Lori whirls around, her blonde hair almost whipping me in the face. Wide eyes. "I knew you did!" she claps her hands together, smiling. "I mean like, I totally knew that your brother James thinks Camille's ghost is real, and honestly, at first I took you to be more of the cynical type, but you're not!" Lori stops halfway down the hall to smile.

I open my mouth to speak, but words fail to come out. _James? Joe? He isn't... whatever._

"Actually, I don't really think that it's possible—"

"Oh don't smash my hopes." Lori giggles, tossing one hand to wave off my unspoken words, before turning and continuing down the low-lit hallway. "You're a believer in the unexplained things of the supernatural. Even if you don't admit it, I just know you are."

New text again. Two angry vibrations.

I let a sigh slowly ease its way out of my lungs, deciding not to argue with Lori about this.. because that would be just... ridiculous.

"Anywhooo, thank you for the escort." she stops at the second last door, crossing her arms and leaning back against the faded wood. "Quite gentlemanly of you." Sweet smile.

I shrug one shoulder, ears going slight red—I can feel it. "Uh sure. Anytime."

"Niiiight." Lori gives me a little wave before easing open the door and slipping inside.

It shuts.

Shrugging off the leftover weirdness, I pull my cell out of my jeans pocket and start to make my way back down the sleeping car hallway, swiping through the home screen.

New texts... four.

 **Joe Hardy:**

dude you wont believe what Nance and I found. Tino is so dead meat.

duuuuuude

isnt Tino's meeting adjourned by now?

where are you

I roll my eyes, sliding the phone back into my pocket, and pushing open the door to our bedroom.

"Dude, finally." Joe glances up from his bunk, where he is sprawled out like if he has anything to be exhausted from. "What took you so long? We saw Tino storming back to his study like, forever ago."

I nod slowly, pushing the door shut behind me. It clicks.

Joe sits up, purposely slouching to avoid smashing his head on the underside of the upper bunk, which hangs kind of low. "...Didn't you get my texts?"

"Mhmm. I did." I pause at the tiny sink to wash my hands. Short pause. "You should know that I don't answer texts in public, or even look at them." I shoot him a glance over my shoulder, whipping the pilly towel off its hook to quickly dry my hands. "It's rude."

Joe rolls his eyes, standing to stretch his arms over his head. "Well whatever. Obviously Tino's stupid meeting deal was over with, so where the heck were you 'in public'?"

I sigh, replacing the towel and seating myself at the small wooden desk crammed into the corner of the room. "I was talking to Lori."

Joe grins. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, she asked me to escort her back to her room."

"Naturally." he nods slowly, trying to bite back a stupid smile. "You should've seen the way she was _beaming_ at you during that meeting."

My ears go red. "What? No she wasn't." I pretend to ignore him and flip up the lid of my netbook, remembering suddenly that I need to check to see if ATAC emailed me back about my PI certification form being filed, yet.

"Yeah she was." Joe climbs up to the top bunk, flopping back onto the mattress.

I shrug, trying to save face here. "Yeah, well. There's nothing wrong with being friendly, you know."

"Being friendly." he blinks. "Get a clue, Frank. If the girl swooned and fell into your arms, you'd probably still think she was just being friendly."

"That's different." I pop open a new internet window.

"Obviously." Joe yawns. "So anyway. Did you enjoy your time with Lori?"

I glance up briefly from the computer screen, only to give him a look. "Did you enjoy your time with _Nancy_?" a pillow catapults towards my head, but, due to lousy aim, dashes to the floor with a soft thump.

"Missed."

"Whatever." Joe sits up. "I've been aching to tell you what we found, bro. Tino is so busted."

One new email. From ATAC. But I don't even feel the need to quickly double-click it open. The subject line declares something about confirmation.

Always a good message on the detective front: confirmation.

I slip one hand around the lid of the laptop, snapping it closed. "Dirt on Tino? Enough to bust him with?" I glance up to Joe, who jumps down from the top bunk.

"Yeah. Finally." he reaches into the pocket of his denim jacket, which is thrown across his bunk, and pulls out a handful of withered yellow papers. Hands them to me.

"Turns out Wonder Cop is quite the forger."

"Forger?" I push my glasses up onto my nose, glancing over the papers, all the unfinished letters in Jake Hurley's handwriting... or, apparently, a very good copy of Hurley's handwriting.

I shake my head slowly, my breath coming out in a word. "Wow."

"Yeah." Joe nods slowly, hands going into his jeans pockets. "But Nancy still doesn't think we should bust him yet."

I nod slowly. "Yeah, she's probably right."

Joe looks at me.

"I mean, it's probably better to collect more evidence. Answer more questions."

Joe sighs. "Yeah, but aren't you at all anxious? At all annoyed that the guy had to the nerve to write a fake letter and make up that whole story about Jake Hurley?"

"Well yeah—but Joe, we need more. Obviously."

He shrugs. "I can't see why. If busted him now, it would be over."

I shake my head slowly. "I have to say I agree with Nancy. It's not time to bust him. Besides, he left that meeting pretty ticked. I don't think he's in the mood."

"In the mood? When is anybody ever in the mood to get busted?"

I let my eyes close for a second. "Let's just wait, okay?"

Short pause.

"Kay." he lets out a loud sigh. "Fine." and proceeds to yanking a white tee out of his suitcase.

I nod slowly, my mind already starting to wander. "Hey, did you remember to send in that certification—"

*BEEP BEEP*

I'm interrupted by a loud, demanding bleep from my cell phone. Rolling my eyes, I yank it out and swipe the screen.

Joe pulls on the shirt and turns to face me as I scan the annoying automated text from FrameQuest, which begs me to please consider buying another advanced EVP recorder. I roll my eyes and delete. Set the phone down on the desk beside my netbook.

"I thought you didn't open texts in public."

"This isn't public." I shrug one shoulder. "It's just you."

Joe rolls his eyes and smirks. "Well who was that from? Lori Girard?"

I resist the urge to throw the pillow at his head. "Would you just go to bed please?"

"Was it?"

"No." I glare. "She doesn't even have my number."

"You're supposed to ask for _her_ number first." Joe tells me, like he's some expert on this.

"Oh really." I open up my netbook again. "And who asked for who's number first? You or Nancy?"

Joe open his mouth to reply. Actually says nothing for a few seconds. "I don't.. remember. That was forever ago."

"It was five years ago. And I remember." I give him a look over the edge of my computer. "It was Nancy."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Something Stupid (Joe Hardy)**

In the middle of the night, the train stopped. In the middle of nowhere.

So yeah, it was pretty weird and yeah, everyone was sufficiently freaked out. We all collectively met up in the dining car to see if anyone had called the engineer yet and figured out what the heck was going on. And, as he brilliantly put it, "The train has broken down. We're trying to get it fixed up here, so everyone can just shut up and go back to bed."

And so we obeyed the engineers orders—because what else was anyone supposed to do? Although I did kind of want to jokingly elect my bookish brother to help, figuring that he must've taken some kind of crash course in repairing train engines at some point in his life. But I didn't do this. Instead I just shut up and went back to bed.

The morning was a total boring blur of early fog and insomnia. I was out of bed at an insane hour (like when it was still dark), but thankfully Nancy was up already so we just kind of hung out in the dining car and talked while she had some coffee. Finally she asked me if I wanted to play Scrabble. I told her that I would sooner tie myself to the tracks. But then she said that if I didn't play it with her, she just wouldn't tell me about the hot chocolate. So of course I said yes. (It ended up being kind of lousy. But then so was the Scrabble game—she beat me by two hundred and sixty-seven points.)

Frank had gone MIA all morning—and he wouldn't answer any of my texts. Which meant that he was either "in public" (whatever that is) or with Lori. Finally after the whole Scrabble trip Nancy left and I somehow kept myself from going insane by talking to John Gray about cameras and shutter speeds and other stuff that I had no idea what he was talking about. He was obviously having some kind of technical difficulty with his equipment, so he sent me away to go find him duct tape. And what the heck, you'd think more people carry around duct tape. John Gray told me that he let Nancy borrow is only roll, so I texted her and waited for some kind of a reply. But one never came, so I figured she must've been away from her phone.

I eventually found her (keyword: eventually) outside the engine car, trying to talk to the engineer, who seemed to be getting pretty annoyed by her hanging around. I asked her about the duct tape, and she pulled a half-eaten roll of the stuff out of her backpack. Then she turned to me asked if I wanted to meet up after and look around outside? So I nodded and said sure, because it wasn't like there was anything better to do.

I ran back to give the tape to John Gray, who took it gratefully and didn't attempt to make anymore conversation—so I took that as my cue to leave.

Nancy met me just outside the train and we ended up just kind of walking around in the huge patch of dusty sand, which was totally empty save the tracks slicing through and the occasional dead plant. It was hot and the whole "exploration" was pretty fruitless. But it was worth just talking.

After all this, it was getting pretty late in the afternoon, so I went back to the sleeping car to find Frank in our room.

"Where were you?"

Frank looks up from the desk, the lined paper fluttering to the floor. "I was actually just leaving."

I raise an eyebrow, pausing inside the doorway. "That's not what I asked,"

"Fine, if you must know, I was talking to Lori." Frank stoops down to grab the fallen papers.

"Oh yeah?" I lean against the wall, trying to bite back a smile—for his sake. But fail.

He glances briefly over the crowded desk before shuffling a few pages into order and straightening up. Then he notices my stupid grin and rolls his eyes. "Yeah—and it's not like that, okay? Anyway, now she has me repairing this bookcase, and—"

"Repairing a bookcase." my voice comes out sounding totally unfazed.

"Yeah. I know." he laughs dryly. "But seriously. I promised her that I'd do it. And it's not like there's anything better to do, right?"

I shrug one shoulder. "Uh, I guess not."

He doesn't say anything for another few seconds. Just kind of stands there and studies my dazed, unfocused expression.

"Well? What is it." he drops a random book on the desk.

"What?" I look up, snapping out of it. "What is what?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "What's on your mind."

I sigh, "Nothing,"

"Seriously."

"I don't know, actually. To be honest." I push my hands into the pockets of my denim jacket. Forged letters. "I guess I'm just kind of anxious about this whole deal—about all the evidence and proof we've collected to confront Tino. And yet we're not going to talk to him about it."

"Well now just.. isn't the time, okay?"

"Come on—I've had my mouth virtually duct-taped shut for like, ever."

Frank rolls his eyes at this—he just can't help it. "It hasn't been "for like, ever". It's been like a day."

I pull in a deep breath and decide not to continue.

I guess I shouldn't be so impatient? Maybe? Nancy's right—nobody is going anywhere. We're pretty much stuck in the middle of the desert on a busted train. How fun. So I shouldn't be impatient. Nancy's right. Of course she is.

"Whatever. But I'm still dying of boredom over here…"

"Nobody can physically die of boredom, Joe." Frank states factually, turning to swing open the bedroom door and brushing past me, out into the hallway.

I take a shallow breath, not replying.

"Oh, before I forget."

"Yeah?" I turn slightly to face him.

"ATAC sent me this file that we both have to update on our phones—it's something about their new software and you need to make the upgrade too in order to have our phones synched. So you should do that while I'm gone."

I nod slowly. "Oh wow, Frank—that should keep me entertained for like, the whole time you're gone." I say it so dry and perfect but my brother doesn't even smile.

"I won't be gone for too long, okay?" he tells me, starting down the hall. "Just.. stay out of trouble." Then he's gone, obeying the quiet rule like a good boy scout and shutting the door softly behind him as he leaves.

I swallow a sigh, leaning back into the faded wallpaper (which also smells like someone's basement) and taking the letters from my jacket pocket. The forged letters. Studying the copied print for a moment.

 _Gosh that guy's a jerk._ I shove them back into my pocket.

Okay, phone update. I get up the notification on my screen, going ahead with the install. It's going to take probably forever, so I plug the phone into the one and only (and kind of frightening) electric outlet. Man, I really don't want to stay in this little hot stuffy room. But Frank has the key. The one and only key. And I'm going to have to leave my phone in here if I leave—and lock myself out.

* * *

After seventeen hours (literally) of sitting in the middle of nowhere, the train starts moving. No one knows how or why or what had gone wrong, but I don't think anyone really cares.

Frank still hasn't returned from his bookcase-fixing escapade thing, and honestly I'm not expecting him to show up anytime soon. You know how Frank is around girls. There's no polite way to say, sorry I don't have time to talk to you anymore—goodbye.

Now the dully-burning orange light slanting through the windows of the train is already fading. Dusk settling in deep—making everything feel cold, even though it really isn't. And the day is gone. Again.

Another day of letting Balducci get away with murder. But I guess that's just how we roll. I'm so going to go talk to the guy. I don't care what anyone says. I've done this a billion times before, in way more dangerous situations. Like the time Frank and I had to disarm half a dozen set time bombs in the belly of a leaking air craft carrier. Or the time that those mafia guys locked me in that gas chamber in some underground tunnels and left it to fill up with toxins. …the former was actually kind of fun. The latter? Not so much.

Anyway, the point is, I can deal. This is just a harmless (hopefully), full-of-himself police detective who's gotten away with a little too much. And now it's time for the guy to get a nice cold jet-stream of reality in his face. So it's all good, right?

I leave a note on Frank's laptop before I go—scribbled on a scrap of paper in my messy handwriting that very few people in the world can even understand:

 **Frank,**

 **You took too long.**

 **Don't come looking for me. I'm fine on my own..**

 **I'll fill you in on everything later.**

…Man, who am I kidding? I can't do this. It would be like going behind Nancy's back or something. And Frank's. It would be pretty deceitful to go alone and not tell either of them about it. And I couldn't do that. It would just be, I don't know, wrong.

But now I'm out in the hallway and I've already locked and shut the door. So there's no getting back in to toss the note I left for Frank.

Man, I've got to think about something else. If I had my phone, I'd text Nancy and ask her what's going on and where she is. But no, thanks to lame updates from ATAC, I'm incommunicado. I think she said something about how she was going to be in the machine car checking out something with the map filing system… but is she still there? No idea. I decide to check there first.

I take a breath and shoulder open the heavy iron door, stepping into the stagnant warmth of Jake's car. Door shuts. Silence. Maybe a clock ticking—I can't tell. I just stand there for a minute, trying to convince myself to just walk past the doorway—don't go in. I push my hand into my jacket pocket, closing my fingers around the papers.

 _Don't go in._

"Who is that, out there?"

 _Dang_. And I was just about to leave.

I clear my throat, "Joe Hardy?" the name comes out sounding more like a question—like if I'm not even sure what my name is.

"Would you come in here for a minute? I'd like to talk to you." Tino's voice comes again, this time sounding more demanding. Like a cop.

I take a second to roll my eyes. Man, I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to even have to look at/communicate with him. But I step inside the study anyway.

Low-lit, stuffy. Everything exactly how it always is. Tino doesn't glance up from his oh-so-interesting notepad, not even acknowledging that I just walked in. His feet up on the desk.

I cross the floor, stopping before the desk, which is strewn with a few more books that look horribly boring at first glance.

"So." Wonder Cop says smugly, not even looking up. "How's it going."

I just stare at him for a long few seconds. "…Fine."

"Good." he manages a kind of dry, I-hate-you smile, sitting up a little straighter and taking his feet off the desk.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

Tino takes a breath, sets his notebook down. "Well I've been picking up some suspicious vibes from you."

 _Suspicious vibes? Who talks like this?_

"I don't.. know what you're talking about—"

"I believe," he cut me off, "we talked briefly about it the other night."

I don't respond, so Tino keeps talking.

"We're all aware that you're an amateur detective and have obviously assigned yourself to answering the questions present here—regarding the mystery. But investigation can go too far, my friend."

"Okay… I still don't get it." I shrug one shoulder passively.

Obviously ticked, Tino leans forward slightly with his elbows on the desk, nailing me a look. "An anonymous witness said that they saw you apprehending confidential papers sometime around seven o' clock, last night."

"An anonymous witness? Who."

He wants to roll his eyes at this—I can tell. "Does the word "anonymous" mean anything to you?"

"Not really. It was you, wasn't it."

He doesn't even look at all surprised by this accusation. "Whatever you're hiding, let me tell you right now—there's no point in hiding it. Theft is serious business."

I don't say anything. _Confidential papers?_ What the heck. The only thing I've been "hiding"—if you can even call it that—is the forged letters from this liar's wastebasket. If those are considered "confidential", man, I'm in deep.

Wonder Cop looks at me for a minute, waiting for a reply. Then finally he just shrugs and mutters, "You have a right to remain silent,"

"Wait wait wait." I let my eyes shut for an annoyed second, trying to think straight enough to not blow up. "Are you like, arresting me?"

"Well that depends, doesn't it?" he glances up, "That depends on whether or not you're hiding something,"

"I'm not hiding anything."

A short pause.

Then he takes a breath, "Then give me your jacket."

"What?"

God! Why do I still have those letters in my pocket? There's no way I'm going through this. No freaking way.

"I said, give me your jacket."

"You want to search me?"

"Precisely," I swear he almost smiles when he says it.

There's another split second of dead silence. Then I push the denim jacket off my arms and toss it over the desk to him. He throws me a second glance, one that I can't figure out, then starts feeling around inside the pockets of the jacket.

I know how this is going to go down. I know I'm going to have to turn the tables on him. And chances are, things are going to get ugly. But there's nothing I can do about that.

His hand dives into the front left pocket right away, almost as if he already knew that there was something in there.

I look away as he rips out the handful of forged letters and pretends to act surprised, tossing them onto the desk for further examination.

"Oh now this is interesting."

I can't take anymore of this crap. He reaches to grab one of the unfinished letters, but I stop him by slamming my hand down on the desk, nailing the papers there. He looks up only moving his eyes.

"You said that theft was serious business." I bring my voice down, "What about forgery?"

He doesn't say anything at first. _But that's okay, because he has the right to remain silent, right?_ The freaked expression frozen onto his face like a wax person.

"So," I take my hands off the desk and straighten up.

Tino's gaze shifts upwards to meet mine. "You wanna discuss this?"

I nod. "Yeah, that'd be good."

"Then follow." The police detective pushes back his chair, its antique feet growling against the floorboards. He grabs the letters in one fist and starts briskly across the low-lit room. And I trail behind him.

Caution. Tension.

He takes a right at the doorway, glancing briefly over his shoulder. _Yes, I'm following._ Down the long, narrow hallway taking a right. He brutally shoves the door open halfway, barely waiting for me to catch it. A twinge of something sickening tangles itself in my gut—something that tells me I shouldn't go out there. But I ignore the feeling, and step out onto the darkened platform with him.

Outside, the atmosphere has totally changed. The sky is submerged in blackness—faint stars trying to poke through. A swirling, cyclonic rush of air whirling around and underneath the train, making it feel more like a wormhole screaming through spacetime. Dull light bulb cemented to the wall, glowing just enough to see where you're going, so you don't fall right off the train.

Tino steps to the edge of the platform, pausing at the wrought iron railing, his back turned to me. A silent moment. The strings of tension start lacing themselves tight in my chest. But I don't speak.

"This is a set-up. A conspiracy." he tears around to face me, eyes narrowed. "I've seen this kind of thing before, Hardy. I've been framed by guys in the past—and I know how to deal. I come through." he straightens his shoulders.

I've got to play this right—this guy's nerves don't take to wear very well. I can tell. I close my hand around the freezing iron rail supporting the platform, clearing my throat. "I'm not trying to frame you—"

"Really." Tino scoffs indignantly. "Interesting."

"...I just want to know the truth." I reset, leveling my gaze with his. "We all want to know the truth. About you. About everything we've seen here."

He says nothing at first. Letters still in hand. Eyes still intense, fixed on mine.

"Because I'm starting to get confused as to what is real and what isn't. You're not really as clean as you pretend to be, Tino. Evidence proves that." I nod towards the papers clutched tightly in his fingers.

"Evidence?" he sounds incredulous. "What evidence. This evidence?" —holding up the forgeries— "This.. document?"

I nod slowly, those strings gradually tightening. I can feel it. "Yeah."

"Well," sick smile. "you know how I deal with an inconvenient document that gets in my way?"

This is a trick question. I don't reply. But he doesn't wait for one. Instead he lets the faint trace of a demented smile twist onto his face, "I crush it." and barely moving a muscle besides those in his hand, he crunches his fingers into a tight fist, balling up the forged letters just like that. Without another word.

I swallow the lump trying to grow in my throat.

"And I get rid of it." Tino takes one step backwards, to reach past the edge of the platform and let the balled-up papers silently fly from his hand and into the darkness around us. A short pause. "...And I act like it never happened."

Silence. Tension.

I clear my throat, finally bringing myself to speak again. "So you're not denying it."

His eyebrows raise. More like his whole forehead.

"Because that said evidence that you just threw away? Is a forgery. You copied Jake Hurley's hand in order to write a phony letter and make it look like the guy was this insane murderer. Why?"

I've got to keep talking—I've got to keep this guy answering questions—because things are starting to get intense here, and that sick feeling is making itself at home in my stomach. Just keep talking.

Tino rolls his eyes. "Look. In my lin'a work, I've discovered that the only way to survive is to give people what they want—tell them what they want to hear. So I did." he shrugs stiffly, taking one step closer.

I don't move—because this guy will absolutely not intimidate me. I lean back a little, pressing one shoulder blade into the wrought-iron post behind me; the tracks still rolling loudly underneath us only a few feet down.

"You told them that Jake Hurley was a murderer." I push my eyebrows together, confused. "Is that what they wanted to hear?"

"Sure. It's fitting. Thrilling. News story worthy," he pauses to roll his eyes. "Even worthy of a ripping novel, according to Charleena Whatserface. So yeah—I'd say it's... pleased everyone. Kept them distracted at least, while we all waste our time trying to get to nonexistent 'Scratcherd Bend'."

I freeze my thoughts for a moment—the last part of his sentence hitting me. "..What?"

He laughs dryly under his breath. "Yeah, you heard me. _Nonexistent_. With a capital N."

"You mean.." I try to piece this together in my head—rapid fire. "Scratcherd Bend isn't even on the map? You made this whole thing up? You're sending us all in the wrong direction for absolutely no reason? We're not gonna find the mine in the middle of the desert. Why did you—"

"Would you just _shut up_ for a sec?" Tino breaks in, patience starting to wear thin. "Newsflash—no. It wasn't on the map, it never has been. You call yourself a detective? Well you did a real swell job investigating. Kudos for finding the letters—but a _monkey_ could've picked through my trash and discovered that. And did the maps confuse you kids? I could have done that in my sleep—switch this map with that map, pop them into the wrong tubes. Done." he shakes his head slowly at my expression.. which must look pretty freaked at this point. "As advice from one detective to another? Next time you might wanna overturn every rock before jumping the gun like this. But I understand." he puts up one hand in mock sympathy. "You're still learning."

My blood starts to boil. But I keep my lips sealed.

"So." he diverts back to the original topic—thankfully without my having to remind him of it—looking up. "...You wanna know why I'm quote 'sending everyone in the wrong direction'?"

I swallow. Wrought-iron under my dampening hands. Don't say anything.

"Because. I don't lose. Ever." his voice tenses. One step closer. "If anyone's gonna find Hurley's mine? It's gonna be me. Not you, not your brother," he pauses, a slightly crazed look infecting his eyes. "And _definitely not_ that little self-obsessed airhead girl _._ "

Wow. Okay.

"That's all you need to know. In fact," Tino's voice drops to such a low pitch that I can barely hear over the screaming rush of the train. "that's more than you need to know. More than you ought to know."

The knot in my throat starts to swell again, sealing the escape of any words.

His gaze switches back upwards, and he steps forward to place one clammy hand on my shoulder—I can feel its cold dampness through my overshirt.

"You, my friend, are in fact a hazard to my good name, now."

 _Good? When was it ever._

"You are dangerous to me. The information you know is dangerous to me," he pauses, just looking at my expression—which I force to be emotionless. "And do I want the entire world to know about this? This.. interesting little conversation we've had out here tonight?" he targets his steely eyes right into mine. "Of course not. In fact, not one word uttered tonight will ever reach the ears of anyone."

My palms are sweating now—I try to swallow the lump frozen in my throat.

"Because you," Tino clamps his hand tighter around my shoulder—pressure. "You are an inconvenient nobody. And you know what I do with an inconvenient nobody who gets in my way?"

The dull glow from the dying light bulb casting a warped shadow across his face. I don't speak. Knowing it already.

Growling wheels. Cold wrought-iron. Tracks ready to eat something alive. A couple feet down there. In the blackened, hollow pit between the train cars.

 _I need to get out of here._

He leans forward, getting right in my face to tensely hiss, "I crush him. And I get rid of him." Tight, cold hand. I don't flinch. "...and I act like nothing. Ever. Happened."

 _If you really think I'm just going to stand here while you kick me off a moving train? You're wrong_.

I do it fast—knock his slimy hand off my shoulder, managing to keep my hold on the railing with my left hand as I swing my other fist down and punch the guy in the stomach harder than I knew I could. That had to hurt. Because even I feel the sting in my knuckles.

Then my head slams into the iron rail. Victorious feelings gone.

I feel a couple choice words being hissed into my ear, then a quick pressure against my arm, my other shoulder—shoving me down towards the tracks. Hard. Grabbing for the rail violently, I try to tighten my grip, but my sweating fingers slip away. I duck quickly, twist back around, almost losing my footing—don't. Lock my elbow around the wrought-iron. _God that was too close._ Adrenaline now starts rocketing itself tough my veins.

I pull myself back up to his level, pushing against his hard, brutal shoves. He locks one cold hand in a vice around my arm. Sweat starting to lace down the back of my neck, I feel myself being pushed closer to the edge. Tino twists my forearm away from the wrought-iron rail, nearly bending it backwards. Breaking pain.

"I get it now—you wanna try and take me down?" he pauses to growl, getting right in my face. Locking his fingers around both my wrists, twisting them behind my back. "You wanna show me how strong you are?"

Adrenaline. Screaming tracks. I pull in a shallow breath, pushing my head back into the iron. I force my gaze upwards, blood still boiling. "..I never said I was strong."

A short, deathly pause cuts in here. Tino just stares at me, not speaking. _Good. Did that throw you off guard?_

I jump right in and take advantage of his stunned reaction, breaking my hands loose of his vice grip, and feverishly shoving past the railing, making a mad leap for the door. And I almost get two paces—almost push myself away from the edge and close the gap of distance between myself and the iron door—almost reach the handle. My sweating fingers almost touch it. Almost.

But something hard clamps around my ribcage, draining the air from my lungs. I feel myself being dragged closer to the edge of the platform, to the blackened pit of tracks—a damp hand clawing through my hair, whiplashing my head backwards.

"Think you can run?" I struggle to breathe, his words coming in blurry strains.

I fight his iron grip locked around me, trying to break away, trying to just push my feet into the solid floor to stop myself from being shoved closer to the edge. My strength draining.

"Well you can't." hand closes around the back of my neck in a brutal headlock. "And you won't." I struggle to duck out of his hold—elbowing, kicking, trying to breathe. His hot breath fills my right ear. "This is it, Hardy."

The edge. My toes feel it first—a blunt drop off into the blackness. Closer. I feel the vibrations of the wheels, the tracks, everything. Or maybe it's just my heartbeat slamming a hole through my chest.

With one last desperate attempt, I throw myself backwards blindly. His lock around my head intensifies, fingers pressing hard into my neck, blurring my vision for a split second. Fuzzy yellow spots. No. Everything numbs to a hollow stream of muffled noise, words I can't make out. The edge.

Then all of a sudden, I'm thrown forward into the darkness, the screaming whirring rush of the train funneling around me for a split second as I feel myself start to fall...

I slam my hands down. And hang on. Oh YES. I'm actually hanging ON.

Trying to tighten my grip on the cold steel thing under my wrists, my legs swing out wildly from underneath me, the soles of my sneakers almost burning rubber on the tracks down there. Oddly though, they're no longer down. More like surrounding me.

I realize within a few split seconds that I've managed to grab onto the underside of the coupler. Somehow it seems twice as big and cold and monstrous from this strange perspective. I get a better grip on the awkward steely bends in the coupler, the screaming funneling rush of the train reaching up to swallow me whole. Wrapping my arms around the bent pipe which I've managed to latch onto, I somehow press myself up against the underbelly of the coupler. I slam my forehead into the cold iron, breathing hard. Trying to breathe. Trying to hang on.

He actually did it—he threw me off. Maybe he hadn't heard the satisfying crunch to follow my being sucked underneath the train car, but as far as he knows, I'm gone. I'm dead. I mean, how could I have possibly survived being thrown off the end of the car like that? I couldn't have. And he knows it. And last time I checked, when a loser jerk suddenly decides to up and murder someone? They don't stick around the scene of the crime. They flee. Yes, he's a police detective. But he is also a coward.

So if I can manage to cling like a deranged monkey to the underside of this moving train for a few more minutes? He'll most likely slip back inside, unnoticed by the rest of the world, and I will be able to climb back up onto the platform, pull my act back together, and get inside, cornering the jerk at his own desk. Scratch that. Find Frank. Then corner the jerk at his own desk.

But will this plan actually work? You have to wonder. Just at the clinging to the underside of the moving train bit. Because my arms are getting tired. Really fast.

The tracks are screaming—literally—just underneath me, in an ice cold rush, begging to eat me alive. But I somehow hang on. And what's more, I actually find my way through the pitch black, scaling up the freezing, awkward bends and shifts in the metal. I can't see—but I don't have to.

All I need to focus on at this point is keeping my legs up, hooked onto the underside of the car. Because if I lose my grip? I'm done. And second chances, unfortunately, are just a Nancy Drew thing.

It takes me probably a whole grueling 90 seconds to pull my way along and to the edge of the platform—and I think it's safe to say that it feels like the longest minute and a half I've ever experienced.

Finally my fingers lock around the edge of the platform, though. I feel for a foothold and thrust the toe of my converse inside it—then my hands can clamp around the edge. I find a better grip (sort of) and after a few seconds of getting together what's left of my strength, I push down on my palms, hoisting myself up over the edge of the platform. I scramble up to my feet in the darkness, pulling deep breaths down into my lungs. I stand upright enough to think and see straight in the blurry, dim light of the platform. And in a split second, I realize that I'm not alone. But I realize this probably two seconds too late.

A steely hand grabs my wrist, twists my arm backwards behind my back, slamming me face-first into the wall. Thankfully I pull my head up just in time to avoid a broken nose.

"You—" Tino's hoarse whisper curses into my ear, nailing me harder against the wall.

I don't struggle to push him off me, at first—I stand here completely pinned up against the icy steel wall, feeling blood starting to weep from my palm.

I pull in enough air to get out a few words. "..I don't go down that easily,"

"Oh you're going to, Hardy." I feel his cold, muscley arm lock around my neck, before I can think fast enough to dive out of his grip. "You're going _down_."

I snap back into action, struggling to pull down and out of the position, but it's too darn late. He locks his other arm around my neck—the pressure getting harder. I really am going down, and I know it. My head is shoved forward into a sleeper hold. The air starts to drain from my lungs. _This can't be happening._

With a desperate attempt to knock him off of me, I throw my head backwards, getting just enough room to drag in a deep breath, kicking out of his grip. I lock both hands down on his elbow and try to tear out of his grasp—just enough so I can breathe correctly—throwing blind, hard kicks at his shins.

He lets go. Literally almost dropping me. I push myself back up with my aching cold, bloody hands, jumping to my feet. I tense up. Ready. Ripping around in the foggy darkness.

The door to the train car flings open, gushing light out onto the platform. I almost fall backwards against the rail—staggering, trying to catch my breath. I don't even look at Tino, who has shot to the other end of the platform.

But I look up to the open door, my eyes darting right to two startled blue ones—

It's Nancy.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: Dropped Call Bookshelf Phenomena (Nancy Drew)**

"And...um. The RX Hydrophone. I guess." John Gray sticks his hand out expectantly from behind the tower of monstrous machinery.

I snap out of my thick daze, scanning the fistful of wires in my hand. "...Which is that?"

"Yellow. Four prongs."

 _Yelloooww._ I yank it out of the snarl, dropping the end into his palm. He mumbles some form of gratitude and disappears further behind the sickly beeping monitor which demands medical attention, apparently.

How I ever got stuck here is beyond my knowledge. But the ghost hunter somehow manages to keep our uninteresting conversation alive as he tears wires out from the guts of something.

This is how I've decided to amuse myself just so I don't end up biting my fingernails entirely off for lack of anything else to do. But hearing paranormal phenomena after paranormal phenomena after paranormal phenomena for the past half hour doesn't exactly cure my restlessness. It's actually worse. It's like pouring salt on a raw, open wound. It's torture.

"So yeah. As I was saying.." John Gray continues as the screen of the monitor bursts into a sheet of broken pixelated snow. "The figures slowly melted back into the wall, leaving zero trace that they were actually there in the first place. One of the witnesses of this whole event happened to have a camera and took some pictures, and you'll never guess how they developed."

….you lost me. Maybe I just haven't been paying attention, but at this point? I have no idea what the guy is talking about.

"Oh? What."

"Blue," open hand waiting.

 _Blue?_ The pictures developed blue? OH, right. Blue wire. Gotcha. Haha. Wow. …..I'm bored. I yank out the thin wire wrapped in harsh blue plastic and hand it to John Gray.

"It didn't develop. Nothing showed up on the photographic paper. In fact, the whole face of the wall appeared covered with these dark, unidentifiable blobs. Almost like the spirit behind the strange markings intervened with the film, blotting out something that is not meant to be captured..."

Long pause. While I space out.

John Gray pulls his head out from behind the monitor, eyebrows raised. "Hello?"

"Um wow. That's... amazing." I manage to slap on my best paranormal-geek smile, nodding quickly. "I wonder why—"

"You can't." he straightens up, eyes going wide and suddenly serious. "Wondering and questioning the unseen world is what drives us further apart from them. From finding the clues that will solve unexplained mysteries." he shakes his head slowly. "You have to be very careful not to wonder too much."

I nod, trying to stay focused here. "Okaay."

John Gray just stares at me for a long moment, forehead tensed with something like worry. "Make sure you don't pry too much into their world." Then he breaks into something of a dry smile, "My niece was once abducted by a ghost,"

"Really?" I blink, trying my best to focus, but sounding terribly uninterested. "That's.. horrible."

He shrugs, scooping the handful of tangled wires out of my palm. "It was kinda cool, actually," and ducks behind the machinery again. "Nobody really believed her account of the whole ordeal. Isn't that insane."

I don't reply. Shuffle a step backward, actually. Nearly bumping into the tapestry divan and tripping myself.

John Gray shoves one more wire into the back of the screen—and the whole thing blacks out with a nearly inaudible sizzle. "Ohhh….great."

"Well," I clasp my hands together, taking an optimistic approach. "I'd better be going, I think. I promised..." I pause, chewing my lower lip, and stumbling, mumbling through the last part of my sentence. "..I'm.. sure I must've promised someone something—BYE." And with a quick polite wave, I turn and flee the stuffy low-lit makeshift ghost lab.

John Gray manages to wave back, not really paying much attention. And I'm out of there. Thank God. I was starting to think that I'd never escape.

I make my way through the hallway, heading back to the dining car, and planning on maybe catching Charleena for a quick chat. I've been meaning to ask her about what she thought of the letter Tino presented the other night, because she's such a junkie for old documents.

I would act like I didn't have any leads on the letter—act like I knew nothing about those attempted forgeries we found in Tino's wastebasket—and just kind of ask her if she found the letter from "Jake Hurley" at all… suspicious. It would be good to know her take on things. But first? First, I'm calling Joe.

Why? I don't know, it's stupid and weird, but all of a sudden I've got this sick, uncalled-for dread making itself at home in my gut. It's almost like a sense, deep down, that I know something's wrong. But then, it's probably just my overactive imagination. I mean, what could possibly be going wrong? Joe is probably just hanging out with Frank or something.

But I wanted to talk to him again, anyway. So I pull out my iPhone and stop just inside the doorway of the sleeping car, dialing Joe. And waiting. And waiting. …..and waiting. Then letting the phone drop from my ear and listening more closely to a faint sound muffled by a wall. His ringtone. Down the hall three doors, inside his room.

It just keeps playing, and the phone in my hand just keeps ringing, so I wind my way through the hallway, stopping at their door. Joe's ringtone still playing from inside. I blow out a sigh into the face of the faded oak door, lifting my hand to give it a gentle knock.

"Hey guys? You in there?" It stops ringing, and my iPhone starts going to his voicemail. I knock again. "….Joe?"

No reply. I hang up and try the knob. Locked.

I get it done quickly, though—my hands going straight to my messy up-do, sliding out a bobby pin and cramming it into the mouth of the doorknob. The lock proves to be an easy one—these old doors are cake. So simple.

I ease open the door, letting myself inside the stuffy, hot bedroom. It's totally empty, save the junk everywhere. I almost immediately find Joe's cell phone, which is sitting on the desk plugged into the wall. Something about the total numb quiet of everything is just a little.. eerie.

I reach over the desk to swipe open the notification that just popped up onto the screen: ATAC Carrier 6.1 Update Complete – please synchronize your device: 00.38

I have no idea what any of this means—but it obviously has something to do with an update from ATAC. That's why Joe must have left his phone in here and locked the door. I still can't seem to shake the feeling of deep-seated nervousness—the knowing that something isn't quite right here.

It bothers me that I can't get in touch with Joe—but then, he's probably with Frank. Deciding that this is more likely, I pull up a new screen on my phone and quickly dial Frank. He picks up after a couple of rings.

"Hi Nancy, what's up?"

"Hey Frank. Actually, I kind of wanted to know what's going on with _you_ guys." I clear my throat. "I wanted to go over some stuff together."

He coughs uncomfortably. "Uh, okay… maybe."

I scrunch my eyebrows together at how vague he's being. "What do you mean, maybe? Are you in the middle of something?"

"No. Well yeah, sort of." By the way Frank is talking, it sounds like he's crawling around in some really tight, claustrophobic place.

"Wait, what?" I'm totally confused at this point. "What are you doing?"

"Right now I'm working on fixing this.. lovely bookcase for Lori."

"You're fixing a bookcase?"

He coughs. "Uh, yeah."

"In the caboose?"

"Yeah."

"In front of Lori?"

"Yeah."

"So that's why you're acting all awkward and uncomfortable and not answering me in great detail?"

He almost laughs slightly. A dry, awkward kind. "…Yeah."

"Okay." I shrug, running my fingers through my strawberry blonde hair, which is now really falling out of its do. "Well uh, can I talk to Joe for a second?"

"Joe isn't with me,"

 _No. No way._ My heart dives to my boots as my eyes fall on the scrap of paper sitting on the closed netbook on the little desk pushed into the corner of the room. I snatch up the note. Joe's handwriting.

 _ **Frank ,**_

 _ **You took too long.**_

 _ **Don't come looking for me. I'm fine on my own..**_

 _ **I'll fill you in on everything later.**_

I swallow hard, remembering everything last night. And this morning. How he talked about it. How he couldn't stand waiting so long to confront Tino with all the evidence we found. And how he held onto those forged letters.

No. He couldn't have. He just… he wouldn't have done that.

"….Nancy?" Frank finally asks after a silence. "You still there?"

"I have to go, Frank," I manage to get out the words, my throat running dry. "I'll call you back." and with that, I drop the call, shoving my phone into my jeans pocket and tearing out of that room as fast as I know how, slamming the door behind me.

Joe wouldn't have gone and done something stupid like that, would he? He wouldn't have gone and confronted Tino without anybody else with him. He wouldn't have gone alone. Would he? Something tells me for certain, deep within my bones, that he had.

Out the door, through Camille's car, though that door, Jake's car, and finally I dive inside the doorway to Hurley's old library-like office. My gaze flies right to the desk—the vacant desk.

"What?" I feel the word escape my lips in a barely-spoken whisper. I pull back out of the doorway, looking down the hall for a moment before closing the space between me and the door at the end of the train car. Grabbing the unlocked handle and throwing it open.

A blast of cold rushing wind crashes into me, along with a very familiar set of blue eyes. Panic. That's the only thing that really registers at first.

"Joe! I was—I was looking all over the place for you." I glance up fully to take in the rest—which is just Tino, shoving past me and mumbling some form of excuse. I step to the side of the doorway, trying to get out of his way, and also trying to figure out what the heck is going on.

Finally my gaze rests fully on Joe. Hair messed, clothes disheveled. Looking pretty knocked off guard. "Sorry I—" his right hand goes behind his back. "I didn't have my phone with me.."

"What's going on, Joe? What are you doing?" I don't mention the note right away. But I throw a kind of incognito glance in Tino's direction.

"Nothing. I'm—I was just looking for you actually. I want you to meet me in the dining car, okay?"

"I don't get it—" I pause to toss a quick glance over my shoulder, realizing that Tino has stopped just inside the door and is just kind of hanging out in the hallway. Not really leaving. I turn back to Joe to mouth, "Did you bust him?"

Joe takes a step forward, putting one hand—his left hand—on my wrist and gently pushing me back inside the train car. "I'll meet you in the dining car, okay? Please."

Okay, so it kind of freaks me out. This entire thing. But nothing can be seriously wrong, right? Yeah, Joe seems to be acting kind of weird, but he hasn't said anything outright about what he was doing out on the platform—and what is Tino doing here? He looks like he has nothing to do with this little run-in.

Joe steps inside after me and shuts the door. "Just meet me in the dining car. Okay, Nance?"

I throw him a look to ask if he really wants me to go. Something about leaving him here alone with Tino—something about it still doesn't feel okay. But he nods, running his hand—his left hand—through his messy blonde hair. Still keeping his right hand behind his back.

So I do it—I leave. It doesn't feel right, but I do it anyway. Because I trust Joe. I trust that he knows what he's doing. I wind my way around the corner, bringing myself to walk all the way to the other end of the train car, willing myself to open the door. To step outside. To shut it behind me. To leave him back there.

* * *

Thank you for reading, _FlightFeathers!_ I love getting your feedback. ^.^ And thank you to everyone else who is reading this! Please leave a review if you'd like. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: Death by blackmail (Joe Hardy)**

"You're not going to get away with this," I rip around in the dim hallway to face Tino as soon as Nancy leaves the train car.

"Never mind me getting away—what about you, Hardy?" I swear he almost laughs when says it—if it's even possibly to be that sick—grabbing me by the arm and slamming my back into the wall. "Surprised you didn't take this opportunity to run like the little coward that you are,"

I struggle to break free, wanting to deck this guy so ripping much.

Tino grabs my hand—the one that's still bleeding all over the place, and nails it to the wall with his, pinning me right where I am. "Nicely done, getting Nancy out of here. Why? So we can finish what we started?"

I shake my head slowly, acting unfazed by all of this. "I don't want to fight with you anymore, Tino—"

"Really." the liar actually smiles.

I swallow, trying to get my blood to stop boiling.

I don't really know how I did it, or what happened back there, but I somehow got Nancy to leave—telling her that I'd meet up with her in the dining car to fill her in on everything.

Why I didn't just burst out right then was because I didn't want Nancy to get hurt. I mean, I just went through an all-out war with this guy, and he didn't let up. I could just barely make it out myself. What if Nancy had been there? One of us would've gone down. And God, I didn't want it to be her. Tino is so not going to get away with this—with any of this.

"You're still trouble, Hardy. Don't you act like I don't know it." Tino gets right in my face, narrowing his eyes to tense slits. "I could have you arrested right now if I felt like it—do you realize that?"

I almost want to laugh at this point—and I would, if I wasn't in such ripping agony. I think the story went like this: Cop tries to kill teenager. Teenager punches cop. Cop tries to kill teenager again. Teenager is arrested for punching cop. Am I the only one seeing kind of a flawed system, here?

"I didn't do anything wrong," I drag my gaze up to meet his. " _You're_ the one who deserves to be arrested. And you know it."

Tino nails me into the wall harder. "It's not about what you did wrong.. it's about what you know."

"It's about what you admitted, you mean?"

His grip on my arm tenses up. "…No. It's about what _you know_. You're not going to walk out of this place and go blab to Nancy or your brother or anybody else about what happened tonight. Nobody is going to know about that." he nods shallowly in the direction of the door we just came through. "Nobody is going to know, you hear me? Because you're not going to tell them."

"And why wouldn't I."

"Because." he pulls back slightly, looking down at me for a second before finishing. "If you open your mouth, Hardy, if you breathe a word about this? She dies."

My throat runs dry, almost instantly. I swallow the lead weight. "Who are you talking about."

He almost smiles. "You know who I'm talking about. _Nancy_." he starts emphasizing every syllable just to drill it in deep. "If you dare to breathe a word about this to anyone? I promise you that girl will die a slow, painful death, and never live to solve another mystery again."

I swallow hard, that sick wrenching feeling coming back into my gut. "You wouldn't do that."

He laughs dryly, shallowly. Barely. "Yeah, you'd like to think that, Hardy. But the thing is? I would. I swear to God that Nancy's life is depending on whether you shut up or not."

Two seconds. "I don't need to tell Nancy about this. Or Frank. Or anyone on this train." I pause to pull in a breath, feeling Tino's vice grip on my arm letting up a little bit. "You don't know this about me, but I have bigger connection. I'm actually an undercover agent. For an operation called ATAC—maybe you've heard of it."

Tino just looks right at me for a few moments, then gradually a sick smile evolves on his face. "No, you're not," he shakes his head slowly, "you're no undercover agent."

"You want proof?" I've never actually had to do this before. "Because I can show you proof." I use my free arm to reach into the pocket of my jeans and take out my skinny wallet, which is really just a disguise for my ATAC ID. So it is quickly ripped out and pretty much thrown in Tino's face.

He takes the ID card from my hand, giving it a once-over and shaking his head again. "This badge means nothing—it's worth nothing."

"What're you talking about?"

Tino almost laughs at this, looking back up at me. "You're no undercover agent now, Hardy. You're ID is expired."

 _Oh God. This isn't happening._

"This ID here in my hand? It's worthless. Any _real_ detective would know to destroy worthless documents like this." he takes his hands off me completely, then takes the ID card in between his fingers and rips it in half, then to pieces, throwing the remains of the badge down on the floor.

This cannot be happening. It just can't. I watch wordlessly, everything pouring down into my head all at once.

You stupid, stupid idiot loser. How could you have forgotten about the forms? About the expiring ID? About the nightmare that follows it?

"As far as I'm aware," Tino turns back to me, that same twisted smile stuck on his face. "Your Private Investigator ID has been suspended for the time being. You never sent in those certification forms. As of right now, Joseph Hardy does not belong to ATAC. He does not have any connection with ATAC whatsoever."

I just stand here for a few seconds, completely voiceless. Feeling like I've been shot in the head with a tranquilizer gun. And he just watches my stunned expression, like the sick villain that I know him to be. "…Am I leaving anything out, Hardy?"

… _.I can't ripping believe this guy._

"So now you have nothing. Nothing to hide behind." Tino clamps on of his cold, damp hands down on my shoulder, bringing his voice down again. "You shut your mouth from this point forward, you understand? Don't talk about this to anyone. You know what will happen if you talk." he backs off a few inches. "…You know what will happen to Nancy."

At this point, I'm done. I feel like a thousand pound weight is dragging me down, like if everything that happened is trying to numbly wipe itself out of my memory, like if it's too overwhelming to live with. But it can't be wiped out—it's there. Staring me in the face, and I don't even know how I'm going to get through it.

I break out of Tino's grasp on my shoulder and push past him to get out of the cramped little hallway.

"Don't forget, Hardy." those are the last words I hear from him—they chase me down the hall and get to my ears just before I can escape the train car.

I slam the door.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: Fizzle out (Nancy Drew)**

I wait a whole twenty-three minutes for Joe to show up.

Both Charleena and her laptop are gone probably for the night, so I seat myself at the kitchenette area of the dining car. I haven't called Frank back as promised, and I'm not planning on doing so until I hear from Joe and find out what the heck was going on with him and Tino out on the platform. My puzzling stops when I hear the door click open.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Nance." Joe closes the door behind him, and comes around the other side of the counter, running his fingers through his messy hair. "I got stuck talking to Tino for a few minutes."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? About what?"

He shrugs one shoulder slightly, leaning forward with his elbows on the countertop. "Nothing, really, just.. y'know. Stupid stuff. Not important."

Not important? I don't believe it at first. It just doesn't feel like the truth. But then I kick myself for thinking like that. I mean, Joe would never lie to me. Of course he wouldn't.

"So what happened back there?" I get right to the point, deciding to hear his side of the story before saying anything about the note. "You're an absolute mess."

Joe laughs—not one of his classic, quirky, adorable laughs that I've known him to totally own ever since he was thirteen—this is almost like… like a nervous laugh. Like if he's forcing himself to laugh about something that is absolutely not funny.

"Yeah, I kind of am a mess, huh? It's a.. long story." he passes a hand over his eyes, in a tired sort of way. And that's when I glimpse a trace of blood on his fingers.

"What happened to your hand?" I reach out and grab it. And gasp out loud at the raw gash in his palm. "Oh my gosh Joe, you're bleeding all over the place!"

He glances down at his hand in a distracted sort of way. "Oh? So I am."

"What happened?"

He clears his throat, shrugging a little. "Something's sketchy with the electric system here. I was coming out of the machine car, and outside lights were just.. flicked off for no reason. It was pitch black and I couldn't really see my way over the coupler. I guess I fell. Sort of." he shrugs. "And sliced my hand open on something."

…Well that does explain why he looks so messed up. But what it doesn't explain is why he keeps avoiding looking me in the eyes.

I let out a breath, shaking my head slowly. "What's wrong with you? Jumping over train couplers in the dark." I finally realize that his warm, slightly shaky hand is still in mine, and I break the touch.

"I don't know," he shrugs again, bringing his gaze up to mine for a split second. "I'm just stupid, I guess."

I roll my eyes and disregard this comment. "You should really put some antibacterial on that. You wouldn't want to get an infection."

"I'll be fine," Joe takes a breath, "it's not that bad."

"What kind of a boy scout are you?"

He laughs. A little more like usual this time, but not completely back to normal. "I'm not a boy scout."

"Joe." I pause for a moment, clearing my throat a little. "…I found this note in your room… it was for Frank, and you were telling him not to come looking for you—that you were fine on your own." I look back up to his face, trying to read the look in his eyes. "What was that all about? What were you going to go do?"

"Oh that, uh…" he breaks away from my eyes, seeming nervous for some reason. "It was kind of a joke. I guess." he shrugs one shoulder, managing a slight smile. "Frank was railing on me to go talk to John Gray about something or other, and I just kept putting it off all afternoon. I finally did tonight, so I left him that note to let him know."

For a split second I feel kind of silly—thinking that Joe's note meant anything more. Then that moment ends, and I start to wonder why would Joe be coming into Jake's car from the opposite end if he was going to talk to John Gray? It didn't work in my mind—the story was shifty and patched-up and I knew that something wasn't quite right. But I couldn't bring myself to ask him—it would sound like… like I didn't trust him or something.

"So, I called Frank—he said he was repairing a bookcase for Lori," I try to change the subject and see where that goes.

Joe nods slowly, still looking kind of out of it. "Yeah, that's what he told me earlier."

"I wanted to go over some stuff with you two… about, y'know. All that we've been finding out about Tino. I'm thinking maybe we should talk to him sometime soon…"

Joe starts messing with his hair again—dropping his gaze from mine. "Yeah, I um. I don't know." This comment kind of confuses me, especially coming from Joe.

"I know I said before that it wasn't a good idea to confront him yet, especially because I wanted to present my calculations with the maps first… But I'm just not sure anymore." There is a short pause. "What do you think?"

Joe snaps out of his daze and looks back up to me. "Uh, I'm sorry Nance. I guess I'm just.. pretty beat tonight." he runs his hands over the countertop briefly, straightening up. "Maybe you should talk to Frank about it."

This reply catches me off guard. I mean, I was totally not expecting Joe to just drop the conversation like that. Yeah, he looks pretty bad—but there's more than that. There's still that lingering something in his eyes. And it bothers me that I can't figure it out.

"Um, sure. Okay." I shrug one shoulder slightly, trying to read the look in his eyes. "I guess I'll talk to Frank about it. Or maybe we can all go over things in the morning."

Joe doesn't directly reply to that last comment—he still looks so out of it—but he nods a little, indecisively.

"Joe? Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

He looks back to me, seeming somehow slightly thrown off guard by my prodding. "Yeah. I'm fine."

I don't look or sound convinced. At all. "Really?"

"Yes, Nancy. I promise. Okay?" He finally meets my eyes for more than a split second, making me feel a little twinge of guilt somewhere inside for not having believed him the first time.

…Is it wrong of me that I'm still finding it hard to buy?

"I guess I should go tend to my ripped up bloody hand," Joe pushes himself away from the counter and away from the conversation, starting for the door.

"Gross," I make a face. "But very well. And I guess I should probably call Frank back," I pull my iPhone out of my pocket, swiping the screen open.

Joe pauses a minute at the door—I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. He doesn't say anything, though. I tap Frank's speed dial number on my phone and lift the phone to my ear as it starts to ring.

"I'll see you, then.." I barely hear Joe utter the words, he says it so softly. Opening the door and letting himself out. A moment later, he's gone.

And something inside me can't stop wondering. Questioning.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen: Sitting freaking duck (Joe Hardy)**

By the time morning gets here, I'm totally not feeling it.

After spending half the night—okay, the whole night—awake. Up. Sweating. Running wet cold hands through my hair. Pacing the hallways. Trying to sleep. Tossing. Turning. Getting up. Wet cold hands.

Most of the night I spent just standing out in the dimly-lit hallway of the sleeping car, where it was probably ten degrees cooler than it was in our closet/bedroom. Just standing there. With my back pressed up against the wall.

This can't be happening. I stood there unable to accept that this was actually happening.

I mean, how could I have let this happen? How could I have let myself get into a situation where I could be blackmailed so easily? A situation where I'm completely vulnerable. Helpless. With my mouth duct-taped shut.

I didn't get five straight minutes of sleep until dawn arrived. I sat on the floor in the hallway, staring up hollowly at the windows until gradually, the blackness succumbed to a gentle wash of light, and everything started to look foggy and blue. By then I felt so unbelievably drained that I knew if I got back to bed, sleep would come without a fight.

It didn't help either that by the time I finally did fall asleep, there was Frank, already up, literally kicking me out of bed. I grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved my face into it, trying to not go blind from the all lights he for some reason found the need to turn on this early in the morning.

"Come on Joe," he was moaning the words like if I was still the seven year old delinquent he had to drag to school every morning. "Seriously. It's getting late."

"Frank I was up all ripping night, can't you give me a break?" I turned back around to face the wall.

"Well how was I supposed to know?" the door shut. And that was the last I heard from him for a few hours at least. Naturally, I didn't get back to sleep. Not really. It was more like that place halfway between sleep and consciousness, where your brain goes totally haywire and just starts decking you with all these freaky thoughts and dreams. It felt almost like having a fever.

By the time Frank rings my phone, it's ten o' clock and I've already been up for at least an hour to get dressed and give my head a much-needed plunge into a sink full of freezing cold water. I throw a towel (which also smells like, all together now, _someone's basement_ ) over my head, and pick up his call.

"Yeah?"

"Hey you out of bed yet?"

I roll my eyes and start digging through my open suitcase, looking for some kind of shirt to throw on. "'Course I'm out of bed. Where are you? Chatting it up with Lori?"

"I'm going to strike that comment." Frank says dryly. "Actually I'm in the dining car going over some stuff with Nance. With some good coffee. So get your butt over here already."

I won't deny it—hearing about the mystery, especially this early in the morning, makes my heart start descending into my stomach. "..There's nothing good about coffee, bro."

"Your opinion."

"True," I sigh and pull out a navy overshirt, which is of course insanely wrinkled. But I really couldn't care less.

"Anyway are you coming? We're both getting sick of waiting here."

"Yeah, whatever." I get my arms through the sleeves and attempt to button the shirt with one hand. Which doesn't work.

" _Whatever_?" Frank echoes. "What does that mean? Are you coming or not?"

"I'm _coming_ , okay? Now get off my case." I hang up, landing my phone face-down on the desk.

Okay, so maybe it was a little uncalled-for, to be so short with Frank like that. I mean, it's not like he actually did anything—apart from trying to get me up at the crack of freaking dawn this morning after an agonizing, sleepless night.

To be honest, I'm wearing thin already. Yesterday has left me feeling totally drained, both mentally and physically. The last thing I want to do this morning is try to figure out how to lie and fumble my way through a conversation about the case—the case that I so want to discuss and puzzle out with Nancy and Frank.

As stupid as this sounds, so many times last night, as I was sitting out there in the hallway, numbly awake, I had wished and prayed so hard that this was just some ridiculously realistic nightmare—that I'd wake up from it any minute. I can't get out of it. I spent all night thinking about it. Beating myself up about it. Rolling around in my mind every single possibility until my head ached.

There is no way out of it this time. ATAC was my escape plan. And that plan just backfired. I still haven't told Frank about the forms that I never filled out. I guess I'm just still too ashamed to bring the whole thing up.

Man, I had to lie to Nancy last night. Right to her face. It was like knifing myself in the chest. Of course, she asked about what happened out on the platform—why I looked so thrown out of it and messed up. And it wasn't like I wasn't expecting her to ask me about it—because I was. I looked like a wreck, and I could feel it. Plus Nancy had walked in on the end of our fight—even though Tino played it pretty cool and acted like he had nothing to do with me? He was panicked. I could tell.

I was waiting for Nancy to ask me about what happened, and that's why I had developed probably the lamest bluff ever to use as an excuse—how I fell and it was my own fault that I smashed myself up and slit my hand open. Sure, it was stupid and so cliché, but still—it worked. And it was a lie that I knew I couldn't get caught in. I mean, how else could I explain all the inevitable bruises?

She wondered why Tino was out there with me, so I just acted like it was nothing. I acted like he had nothing to do with anything that happened to me. I could almost sense that she knew I was lying. I mean, come on man—I could barely look her in the eyes when I was talking to her. Could I get more obvious?

I liked to tell myself that I couldn't look her in the eyes because I felt like I was screwing with her, telling her stuff that wasn't true. But I think I know the real reason I couldn't make eye-contact. It was because every time her clear, beautiful blue eyes met mine, all I could think about was what Tino had said. What he had threatened me with. How he had twisted my arm and blackmailed me. He said that he would kill her. And he meant what he said. I know because last night? I had gotten a taste of what Tino is capable of. I had gotten a taste of what his unleashed anger looks and feels like. Not to mention, a taste of the resentment he has for Nancy already.

I'm going to do everything in my power to keep that guy away from her. Even if it means sticking out this whole blackmail thing, this whole lying-to-her-face thing, as painful as that's going to be. Even if it means standing up and taking bullets for her. I'll do it. But keeping on like this? Lying to her like this? It's going to be tough. And I'm not exactly sure how I'll get through it.

I pause to take one look in the tiny, rust-eaten mirror nailed to the wall, which reveals a dull, purplish bruise underneath my right eye, where I think my face was slammed pretty hard into a wall last night. I can't help but think about how Nancy will notice that right away.

I take a minute to mess around with my hair and button my shirt the rest of the way before leaving the hot stuffy bedroom behind me. Locking the door. Out in the hall it feels quiet and dusty. I somehow get myself through the door and into the dining car—not really paying attention to anything in particular. Still feeling so numb and out of it.

Man it's gonna be hard to get Nancy to believe that nothing's wrong with me.

Charleena, hunched over her laptop pecking away, doesn't even look up when I come in—and I've got to say, I barely notice her.

"Hey Joe," Nancy's voice is the first thing that hits me—along with her unbelievably blue eyes and smile.

Frank just glances up from his notebook briefly, to pitch me look—the questioning kind.

"Hey guys," I try to shake it off and act normal—still not sure how I'm going to make it through this discussion about the case. Frank is right—I'm a horrible liar. No one is going to believe me. I pull out a chair at the table—across from Nancy—and sit down.

"You look tired." she says.

"Yeah, well." I sigh out the words, dragging my fingers through messy hair. "That's probably because I am."

"You okay, bro? Nancy told me what happened to you last night," Frank looks at me from across the table.

"Uh, yeah," I feel her gaze on my face. Then I clear my throat, trying to act smooth. "Yeah I'm cool. It's uh, no big."

An awkward pause. Frank nods and looks back down. And I glance back to Nancy. She just looks at me for a few seconds—holds her gaze on mine. I want to break it, but somehow find myself too fatigued to figure out how to do that.

"Coffee?"

"Is that supposed to be irony?" I smile slightly into my fist.

She shrugs. "Just thought I'd offer."

"You guys." Frank speaks up from the other end of the table—using his monotone, 'let's get down to business and defeat the huns' voice.

Nancy turns to look at him, making me sort of envy her ability to focus.

"We need to figure out how to convince Lori that this Scratcherd Bend place is like… totally off-course." Frank says.

Nancy blows out a sigh, running her fingers through her hair. "Yeah, you're right. But how are we supposed to do that? When Tino has proof about the stupid maps being accurate and everything."

Frank shrugs slightly. "Honestly at this point? I have no idea."

Nancy is silent for a moment, biting her lip and I can tell by the look in her eyes that she's rolling around a bunch of stuff in her head. Then she turns to me. "Oh, Joe—I forgot to fill you in. Frank and I talked about it last night, and we decided that maybe we shouldn't jump the gun on Tino." she leans back slightly in her chair. "I know that those forged notes were definitely a good piece of evidence, but… honestly, I'd like to do a little more investigating before confronting Tino about them. I still have a lot of questions about that whole deal that I'd really like to piece together first. Like, what would be his motive in writing up that phony letter from Jake Hurley about how he killed James Thurston? There might be more behind it than what we first suspected, y'know? Like, what if he has more of a motive than just publicity?"

I don't know how she expects me to reply to that—or if I should reply to it at all. So I just nod a little. Barely. Trying hard not to show any emotion about it whatsoever.

"What do you think?" she keeps eye contact. Clear and bright and blue.

"I uh.. I don't.. know." my reply comes back sounding totally idiotic.

Nancy wraps her hands around her coffee mug, sighing. "I don't either. That's why I think maybe we should wait just a little bit longer—even though I know we're all anxious to wrap things up." she pauses to take in some of the warm coffee, then continues. "To be totally honest, I still want to find that lost mine. And I know that it's at Brimstone. I mean, for crying out loud, I didn't even get a chance to look around at Brimstone!"

Frank lifts his head out of Thinker pose to add to that. "Then the next step is just.. finding the evidence that the mine is at Brimstone canyon."

Nancy nods. "Right. And the more I think about it? The more I start to realize that…" she throws her glance around between me and Frank. "I think we already have something to start with."

* * *

 _FlightFeathers: thank you for reading, as always! Your comments mean a lot to me. :)_

 _Silent readers:_ _thanks for reading! please review if you can. ;)_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: Synchopath (Frank Hardy)**

"The dates the maps—they don't line up. There's something sketchy going on with the story…" Nancy leans against the table on her elbows. "Now we just have to come up with hard enough evidence to prove that Tino's explanation is false. Our story has to be bulletproof."

"How are we going to do that, though?" I ask.

"I don't know. But there _has_ to be a way that I can prove that the mine is at Brimstone Canyon." Nancy sighs, letting her gaze trail back to mine. "If I don't come up with some sort of evidence to prove that we need to go back to check out Brimstone Canyon, then Lori's going to call it quits on this whole expedition. After seeing that letter that Tino "discovered", everyone's pretty much sold out to the idea that Hurley murdered Thurston, because he didn't trust him or something—and presumably, soon afterwards, Hurley fell on his own sword, so to speak." Nancy shrugs. "Everyone believes that. And most importantly, Lori believes that. She's like a Tino Balducci disciple, for crying out loud."

I laugh slightly. "True." turning to throw a glance at Joe, who hasn't spoken for a whole five minutes, now. Which I'm starting to find pretty freaky. I mean, Joe is never this quiet. But then, I can tell just by the distracted look on his face, that he's not really into it this morning—who knows what his deal is?

He did get pretty ticked off at me earlier when I was trying to knock him out of his thick-headed hibernation. Mumbled something about how he didn't get any sleep last night. I didn't really think much of it. Honestly at the time? I thought hey—he deserves it. Usually I'm always the one waking up at a pin drop, while Joe could sleep through a nuclear explosion. (READ: A nuclear explosion that would not hurt anybody or anything.) So what's the big deal if he didn't get the best night's sleep? It's totally not like him to just sit here, spacing out in the middle of a discussion with Nancy about a case. If there's something on his mind that's bothering him, then maybe it would help to talk it through—but there's no way he's going to talk about anything in front of Nancy. So I guess I'll just have to wait until we're alone. See what a nice brother I am? ….and I'm so underappreciated.

"So I guess we're back at square one." Nancy takes a deep breath, setting her coffee mug back down on the table. "Fabulous. Now all I have to do is spend some time investigating in a certain train car with a certain pair of detectives helping me out." she smiles the tiniest bit, even though I can tell that she isn't too stoked about the grueling process ahead of us. "You guys up for helping me? Or is it too early for stuff like this."

"Yeah, totally—not too early." I start folding up my sprawled-open notebooks and getting everything into a neat pile. "Right, Joe?"

He looks up, snapping out of his daze. "Sorry, missed it."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes—not for his sake, but because it's just worthless. "Weren't you paying attention? We're going to go check out some stuff in the machine car with Nancy."

Joe nods slowly, and I can tell that the whole plan doesn't really register into his brain. You know that look—the one that somebody will get in their eyes when you tell them something right to their face and they're just like… not listening—at all. It's kind of a frustrating feeling, actually.

Nancy pushes back her chair and stands up. "I've got to put some of this junk back in my room real quick first—" she starts grabbing her stuff and throwing it into her huge backpack, before zipping the thing up halfway and turning to leave. "I'll meet you guys in the machine car, kay?"

"Sounds good," I reply to her, since Joe is obviously too elsewhere to do so. I stand up and grab my stack of books and papers from the table.

I wait to hear the door slam itself shut before turning to Joe and asking him, "What is up with you, bro?"

His eyebrows immediately scrunch into that defensive, I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about thing—I'd know that look anywhere, it's so trademarked Joe. He'd made the same face when I'd accused him of having a crush on Nancy back in middle school. "Nothing's up with me—" Joe shrugs, pushing his chair back into place at the table. "Sorry I'm not as focused as you are. I'm still kind of exhausted from last night."

"You don't have to be sorry, Joe—I was just wondering if there was something on your mind that was bothering you." I shrug. "Something that… I don't know. You might wanna talk about."

He shakes his head almost too immediately. "It's nothing—just tired. Like I said."

"Kay man." I drop the topic there. "So I noticed this morning that you never finished doing the synchronization with our phones."

Joe's gaze just kind of empties out at this—like if I just spoke to him in another language. "Synchronization? What are you talking about, Frank."

"The update? Remember?" I pull my iPhone out of my pocket to wave it in the air briefly. "The Carrier 6.1 update that I told you to download yesterday?"

He nods slowly. "Yeah, I downloaded it."

"You downloaded it, but you didn't synch the phones?"

Joe blows out a sigh, shoving a hand through his hair. "Frank what the heck are you talking about? I don't know how to do any of that stuff."

"Whatever, I'll do it." I open up my palm for him to throw his phone to me.

But instead he just stands there and looks at me like if I'm giving him the Vulcan salute.

"Your phone?"

"Right," Joe snaps himself out of it (again), reaching into the pocket of his black jeans for his cell phone. "…Shoot. I must've forgot it in our room."

"In our room?" I know I shouldn't blow up on him about every little thing—but I do anyway. "You left your phone in our room? With the door unlocked, probably."

Joe rolls his eyes at this one. "Firstly, I did lock the door. Second, you're being so paranoid."

"Paranoid?" I can't help but repeat the word. "Joe, there's miles and miles of confidential files on that phone." I've brought my voice down slightly at this point. "You've gotta realize that it isn't smart to just leave it lying around."

"I realize it, okay?" Joe groans, closing his eyes for a second. "It was an accident. Don't you ever forget about things and make mistakes?"

I let out a dry laugh. "Rarely."

"Oh har har." he rolls his eyes.

"You go meet Nancy in the machine car—I'll stop by our room and synch the phones, then catch up with you in a minute." I start for the door. "Sound good?"

Joe glances up, cutting his sudden distracted daze. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

Somehow I can't even make it outside the dining car without my phone—which has gone back to my pocket—alerting me of a new text. _If that is Joe, so help me._ I scan the message while pushing through the door to the sleeping car.

 **Lori Girard:** **Heyy what's going on?**

 _Wait, what?_ The message actually freaks me out enough to stop me dead in my tracks. _….How did Lori get my number?_ It sounds insensitive and just plain awkward replying like this, but I have to know.

 **Hi Lori! How did you get my number?**

 **\- Yayy! I didn't know if it was the right #. but that is u isn't it Frank?**

…Another freak-worthy message. I mean… did she actually just remember my name correctly? I snap out of my slight limbo, enough to type back a reply.

 **Yes it's me. How did you get my number?**

 **\- somebody told me it**

 **Who?**

 **\- never you mind! snoopy!**

It would sound too weird to keep persisting, so I just drop the subject there, even though it bugs me a little to not know who's willingly spreading my cell phone number to anyone who asks for it.

I pocket the phone and continue in my pursuit of our cabin door. I stop and reach for the knob. Unlocked. Ha, yeah, good job locking the door, Joe. Did you even check to see if it clicked? …apparently not.

*BEEP BEEP*

I sigh, pulling out my phone again to glace over Lori's text, while getting inside the tight, stuffy bedroom, which is pitch black even in the bright morning hours like this. I start switching on some lights and push the door shut until it clicks—something that Joe would probably call "paranoid". But whatever. He's too indiscrete sometimes.

 **\- sooo whatcha up to?**

 **Just doing some phone updates and stuff.**

 **\- oh how boring.**

 **Haha. Yeah.**

 **\- thanks for fixing that bookshelf btw! u r so sweet. (;**

 **Sure, no problem.**

Nancy and Joe are probably already waiting for me in the machine car, so I have to whip together this synch really fast and get back to reality.

I find Joe's phone lying face-up on his bunk. And when I swipe the screen, an unfamiliar notification flashes for probably half a second. Barely long enough for me to read it or make any sense of it.

 _ **Plug implant complete – 01224586. AC 2558 confirmed – identified device 00.39**_

 _Wait what? What did that say?_ But the notification blinks off the screen almost as suddenly as it appeared—and even after several minutes of reopening closed windows and history and digging through old feed, I can't find any trace of it. _Dang! I hate it when that happens_.

Shrugging off the feeling of insecurity, I try to ignore the weird message long enough to get myself back on track. Okay, phone synching. Right.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: Obvious Hold-back Party Face (Joe Hardy)**

 _Frank, how could you do this to me? Leave me alone like this to go work on the case with Nancy? The case that I can't talk about? You have no idea what's going on._

I stall going to the machine car to meet Nancy. Hoping that by the time I get there, Frank will already be there and I wouldn't have to figure out how to get through it on my own. Man, I wish I could self-destruct right now. But when I push through the door and see her face, I feel somehow bad for keeping her waiting so long.

"There you guys are," Nancy looks up from the map which is spread out in front of her on the desk.

"Just me, actually," I raise a hand, stepping inside and letting the door sink shut after me. "Frank's coming. He's fixing something on my phone real quick."

Nancy nods briefly, looking back to the map. "So Joe—I was thinking that we could start with…" she turns and combs her fingers through her flowy strawberry-blonde hair, letting her eyes wander up to the wall where the maps are stored. "…I don't know. Maybe we could try to figure out exactly how the maps should be filed? Something tells me that the system isn't as complicated as it seems.."

I shrug, reaching up to rub the back of my neck, which is sore beyond belief. From Balducci trying to knock me out. Or strangle me. Or whatever other way he was trying to kill me.

"Joe?" Nancy's voice cuts me out of the flashback.

I look up. Blue eyes. "What?"

"I said, do you think there's a way to get up there?" she tosses one hand in the direction of the maps. "I'm thinking that maybe there's a way that the maps are filed up there… something that we can't see from down here."

I blow out a sigh, going back to nervously forking my fingers through my hair. "Uh, I don't know. Did this Hurley dude believe in ladders?"

Nancy laughs, and I start scanning the room for something that resembles a ladder.

"Probably not…" she pauses. "Maybe I could somehow climb up onto the machine… just to see better."

I turn to look at her. "What machine?"

She motions towards the spider-y contraption thing in the middle of the room. "THE machine."

"How ominous sounding." I can't help but smile a little. "Now you're making me feel like we're in The Princess Bride. Or something."

"The Princess Bride?" Nancy laughs. "Well you do kind of look like Westley."

I give her a look. The kind with the eyebrow that she somehow finds so amusing. And she just laughs again and goes back to trying to figure out how to use the weird contraption as a stepladder.

Man, it's killing me to not tell her. I need to let out all this crap I've learned about Tino. I need to tell someone—it's absolute torture trying to keep it all bottled up inside me. I wish I could just tell her to look at the two maps and their tubes—and read the codes on them, and everything falls into place. It's so obvious how Balducci pulled off the switch, confusing everyone. But I somehow bite my tongue. And just stand here. And look completely clueless and unhelpful.

Within the time that I'm totally spacing out here, Nancy figures out how to step up onto the machine, holding onto the edge of one of the shelves for support.

"And you say that I'm crazy for wanting to walk the roof of a train car?"

She laughs. Kind of. "This is way less insane, Joe. Come on."

I shrug. "Debatable."

"Ha. Fine." Nancy blows out a sigh, scanning the shelves were the maps are filed. Obviously turning up nothing. "There's no filing system up here. Not that I can see, anyway." she drops back down to the floor. "Something tells me that it wasn't botched like Tino said. So that means there has to be another way the maps are filed."

I nod slowly, not really saying anything in reply. Not really agreeing that Tino is wrong about anything. Not really.

Nancy turns to me after a short pause. "…Are you alright, Joe?"

I snap out of it to look at her. In her eyes. Suddenly realizing that I haven't really looked at her this close in what feels like a long time.

"You just seem sort of… I don't know."

 _Out of it?_

"I'm fine." I cut in with the answer before she can continue. "Everything's cool."

She nods slowly. Not buying it. I can see it in her eyes. Blue. Then the train car door is flung open, breaking any concentration that might've existed for two seconds there.

"Hey guys, sorry for the delay." Frank closes the door after him.

Nancy shrugs passively. "It's okay. Nothing to report yet." she lets her gaze drift away from me, glancing back up at the maps. Wandering a few steps away, distracted.

"Joe."

I turn to look at Frank, who is still standing some three yards away, holding out my iPhone for me to take. "The phone synch is done."

"Throw it."

He gives me a look. See what I mean about Frank being no fun?

"Okay, whatever. Thank you." I take two steps forward and let him drop it into my hands.

"Now make sure you keep that phone on your person at all times, okay?"

I roll my eyes. "Kay, Sarge."

Frank whacks my arm, pushing past me to go talk to Nancy.

I flip the phone around in my hand, scanning the notification that flicks itself onto the screen: Please reaffirm your plug implant #01224586. Yeah, whatever. Affirm.

AC 2558 (AutoClone series D.2) – identified device 00.39 – please affirm connection.

I thought Frank said these updates were done. Affirm, affirm. I step through the two-click process, and thankfully the notification disappears after that, so I pocket the phone.

"I was thinking about the connection between the maps and the tubes that the maps came from," I turn back around as Frank starts to say something. "Mostly I was thinking about what confirms that these maps are in their correct tubes.."

I won't lie—at hearing this, I let out a sigh of what feels a lot like relief. But I guess it's only signed and sealed if Frank and Nancy can figure out that the maps have actually been switched to the opposite tubes. Hearing them starting to catch on to the information that I'm trying so hard to keep bottled up inside me? It lets up some of the pressure. For sure. Because now all I have to do is act astonished when they figure it out, right? Riiiight.

"Like, since there are dates on the maps, are there dates on the tubes?" Frank looks back to Nancy, whose blue eyes start to widen a little with the possibility.

"You know you might be onto something," she reaches over to grab the tube left on the map platform, rolling it around in her hands, obviously looking for a date of some kind.

"There. On the end, isn't that a date?" Frank points out, and by now I've wandered back close enough to see the end of the metal tube as Nancy flips it around and reads out loud the date embossed into it.

"August 19, 1904…" Nancy trails off. "Wait." she pulls the map out of its tube, throwing it down on the table and unrolling it. I can see from here that it's the map of Brimstone Canyon—the one Nancy found in the first place.

She flips it over to read the date. "September 5, 1899."

Frank almost laughs. "What?"

Nancy doesn't say anything for a few seconds. "….I'm really confused."

"Wait, where's the other map? The one that Tino found."

"I held onto that one actually," Nancy reaches down to grab another tube leaning up against the table. "It's right here."

Without a word, Nancy flips the tube on its end to read the date—which turns out to be September 5, 1899—then unrolls the map inside. "August 19, 1904. _Unbelievable_."

Frank shakes his head slowly. "So that means somebody swapped the maps,"

"Yeah and I think we know who." Nancy sighs a little, frustrated. "Tino must've switched the maps to different tubes, just so it would look like the map he found? Had the correct code—remember? The code that I found, and entered into the machine? I can't believe I missed something so obvious."

"Anybody would've missed it, Nance." Frank shrugs, starting to roll up the map spread out on the table and stuffing it back into its tube. "I'm guessing that you want us to put everything back the way it was? So we have some evidence to bust Tino with?"

Nancy nods. "Yeah. And I don't know guys—I'm so stinking angry right now, I have a mind to confront the guy tonight. Before it's too late."

At this, I feel my heart rate go up a little. Palms getting damp.

"This is the final piece of evidence we need to make our case—and it also proves that I was right about the mine being at Brimstone, after all." Nancy seals up the map tube in her hand.

Frank just nods and I stand here and listen, the lingering nervousness starting to burn harder.

"And I say that we go for the exact opposite of secrecy." Nancy adds, straightening up. "I think we should call a meeting. And have everyone be there, and prove our case. Tino couldn't possibly figure out how to get out of jam like that."

Frank nods slowly. "True."

Dang. More than anything else right now? I wish I hadn't even shown up here. I hate being stuck in this. I hate knowing what I know, not being able to say it out loud. I hate this. Everything might go totally smooth, though. Who knows? I shouldn't freak over nothing. But something tells me that it's not going to go as smooth as Nancy imagines.

I've seen how capable Tino is of worming his way out of a tight situation. This thing—this meeting that's going to happen tonight? It might not end well. If Nancy confronts him, I know exactly what he'll think. He'll think that I blabbed. He'll think that I told Nancy about everything that happened. And he'll have good reason to think that.

How will all that go down? I have no idea.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen: Framework duh. (Nancy Drew)**

After discovering the mix-up with the maps, I started to fully notice how out of it Joe really was. I had already noticed the dull bruise that was appearing underneath his right eye. But as the day dragged on? I started to get more concerned.

I mean, he's never this unfocused. Ever since I met him, I've known him to be always eager to talk about the current mystery, or puzzle out clues with me. And when it comes to nabbing the bad guys? Gosh, he's all over it. I've gotta say, I don't think _I'm_ even as die-hard as he is about sleuthing sometimes. And from me, that's saying a lot.

There's something about Joe. He's just always been so wired. So insanely, adorably wild. I don't really know any other word to describe it. Except crazy. But today? Man, today he is out of it. Totally thrown. By something. Or someone.

I have no idea what it is… but I have a feeling it's something more than just "not getting enough sleep last night" like he claims. Frank sent him back to his room (quite forcefully, I might add) with what Joe called a "little bit of a splitting headache", so I haven't seen or heard from him since then. It takes a lot for me to pull my mind off that boy and focus on the task at hand—this meeting.

Dusk fell hard and fast, and I almost didn't even see her hit the ground. It's already dark out and the train has stopped five miles from Scratcherd Bend. Everyone sort of decided that it wasn't smart to go trekking off into the desert on a five mile hike in the dark, so we're camping out here and waiting for morning. So this is pretty much my last chance to change everyone's mind about what we're going to do.

I've already met up with Frank in the dining car, who only spoke a few words to me before his attention and company was completely stolen by Lori, who arrives to the meeting early quote: "just to talk to him".

I feel kind of bad for Frank, he's blushing and stumbling through the conversation so much. But it's not like I can help him out, you know? So I just kind of sit here at the table, waiting for people to show up and texting Joe, who sounds no less drained than before—I can tell just by reading his texts.

 **Me: Hey Joe, how's your head?**

 **Joe: …my head?**

 **Me: Yeah you said you had a headache before. Are you feeling better?**

 **Joe: yeah, pretty much.**

 **Me: So what's up?**

 **Joe: nothing really. Just lying here. It's pretty sick how hot it is in this stupid little bedroom.**

 **Me: yeah, I feel for you. Are you coming to this meeting deal?**

That one takes a few moments to get a reply.

 **Joe: Yeah I'm coming.**

 **Me: OK cool.**

 **Joe: Is everyone there?**

 **Me: Everyone except for John Gray. And Charleena (who I'm guessing won't even be able to make it)**

 **Tino just came in the door and is pretending like I'm not important enough to talk to or something.**

 **Joe: Oh God.**

 **Me: He's on his phone. looks like he's reading something.**

 **Joe: so I guess I should get my butt over there.**

 **Me: probably a good idea.**

 **Joe: k. see you in a few.**

It's actually more like twelve and a half minutes. I know because it's easy to sit here and count the seconds when Lori Girard is babbling on endlessly like background noise, explaining to Frank in detail about the whole plot of the novel she's currently reading, and how brilliant it is. Frank looks like he wants to melt into the floor—either from boredom or humiliation or an unhealthy mix of the two.

I snap out of it at the sound of the train car door slamming shut, my eyes flying to the doorway. John Gray. I feel my hopes get kicked to ashes, but just a little. The disappointment only lasts a few seconds. Because I hear the door open again, and in walks Joe.

Mine are the first set of eyes that his latch onto. But the look is broken almost before it starts. He comes around the table and takes the seat next to me, not really looking up or saying anything.

It takes me a minute to refocus on what we're doing here.

I stand up to summon the iPhones away. Tino's is the last to be pocketed. Naturally. I clear my throat. "Okay, guys, it looks like everyone is here—I don't think Carleena's going to be able to make it, so… I'll just jump right in."

Everyone manages to lift their attention to me, as I take in my hands the two maps, which are still in their tubes (their mismatched tubes) and start off.

"Two days ago, Mr. Balducci announced that he uncovered an error in Jake Hurley's map filing system. This error proved me wrong about the location of Jake's mine—which I was absolutely convinced was to be found at Brimstone Canyon. Apparently the code of the correct map was 'N-V-R-Z-T-B-A-A.'" I turn to glance down at Tino, who's cynical gaze has been burning into the side of my face. "Correct?"

He nods slowly. "Correct."

"Apparently that exact code was found stamped onto this tube—which would inevitably hold the correct map. Well after some investigation with Frank and Joe, we discovered something else about this tube—" pausing for a second, I can't help but notice how Tino's gaze is briefly thrown to Joe at the mention of his name. "…We found that there is also a date embossed on the end of the tube—it reads September 5, 1899."

"Can we just cut to the chase here, Nancy?" Tino rudely interrupts, killing my efforts of explaining things clearly.

I resist the urge to bite back with an equally smart comment. "The point is this," I pop open the end of the tube, letting the map come sliding out onto the table, epic-ly unrolling a little by itself.

"The date on the map inside—the map that you found—is August 19, 1904." I look up to Tino. His brow stiffens, like if all the stuff I'm saying is nothing more than a totally inaccurate accusation.

"Wait a second." Lori finally speaks up, looking very confused at this point. "..That date doesn't match the date on the outside." For a second, I'm actually surprised she could piece that much together.

I nod. "Exactly."

Tino jumps up from his chair to glance over the map—probably searching for some fraction of evidence to prove me wrong with. But I know he won't find it—because this time? This time I'm 100% correct.

"Have a look for yourself if you want," I slide the map a little further down his end of the table.

He tries to act like his entire world wasn't just shattered, throwing a glance over the backside of the map.

"Obviously, since this tube has the correct code stamped on it, we know that the correct map should have the exact same date on it," I start reaching for the other map, which is still rolled up at the end of the table.

"Well that could take forever to find," Lori sighs dramatically, dropping her head into her palms.

"I actually already found it." unrolling the map, I let it spread out over the table. "As it turns out, this map is dated September 5, 1899." I glance back to Tino for a second. "…Does it look at all familiar to you?"

I don't even wait for him to reply—because I know that he's not going to. He just stares down at the old sketch of Brimstone Canyon, completely wordless. So I snap up this silence.

"And the tube that I found this map in? Oddly enough, it was marked August 19, 1904. Which means these two maps here? They were wrongly placed in each other's tubes."

"What?" Tino looks up, looking completely disgusted. Possibly hiding something? I can tell just by the look in his eye—there's something more than what he's letting show. "Now who would do a thing like that?"

I know that Tino is trying to throw me off guard. I'm totally not buying his sudden air of innocence. And by this point? I can't really stand here anymore without letting out some of the steam building up in my head, before it starts literally rocketing out of my ears.

"Who would do something like this? Oh I don't know, maybe someone who wanted to confuse everyone else? Someone who wanted to stall the progress of finding Jake's mine, so they would have the time to orchestrate a breakthrough so believable that they'd take all the glory for solving the mystery themselves?"

For a few silent moments, the police detective just stands there and stares at me, a trace of something like bitterness eating into his eyes. Then he slowly breaks into a stiff nod.

"My thoughts exactly, Nancy," he lowers his voice a few tones—not like anyone is listening beside Frank and Joe. Lori is still looking confused over the maps on the table, and John Gray has gone back to his phone. "That would be the only realistic motive that anyone could have. We've all been there before—trying to buy ourselves a little more time. A little more breathing room. I have reason to believe that one of us is guilty."

"Are you literally saying what I think you're saying?"

Tino shrugs arrogantly. "It's not impossible, y'know. You're fully capable of switching those—"

I can't believe what I'm hearing. "Are you _accusing_ _me_ of switching the maps on purpose?"

"Are you accusing _me_?"

Suddenly I realize how dead silent and tense the atmosphere has become. How no one is saying anything. And how Tino is just standing there, keeping his cold, steely gaze drilled into mine.

I pull in a breath.

"Look. I'm not starting an argument here." a short pause. "…We all just want to know the truth."

For a split second, his eyes switch away from mine to throw Joe a brief look. A look that I can't really translate. He doesn't speak. Instead he gives a passive shrug and sits back down.

I try to shake off the feeling of insecurity and focus on the topic again. "Anyway, this is really what I called this meeting to say: Jake Hurley's mine is not at Scratcherd Bend. We've gone off-course, according to my calculations. And the only place that we will eventually find anything resembling a mine.. is at Brimstone Canyon. I'm sure of that."

Lori's sold. I can tell by the look on her face as she listens to me and keeps nodding like that.

So I'm happy.

"So you think that we should head back to this Brimstar Canyon place, Nancy?" Lori asks, leaning her elbows on the table. "Because we can totally do that. Just say the word."

I nod slowly. "Yes. I think that's our only option at this point—unless you're up for wandering around in the middle of the desert trying to find a lost mine that doesn't exist."

"Well duh. No." Lori rolls her eyes.

At this point, Tino pushes back his chair and stands up to leave, suddenly acting all wrapped up in something extremely compelling and important on his phone. He leaves without another word—slamming the door upon his exit. Offended, maybe? Do I care? Heck no.

Problem is, I couldn't get him exactly into the corner that I so badly wanted to. I didn't get a chance to show him up for the lying, calculating snake that I'm discovering him to be. But it will all have to come down sooner or later. The important thing now is? We're headed back to Brimstone.

Lori gets up from the table and disappears into the furnace room to call the engineer and relay to him the change of course. So I take this opportunity to roll up the maps and place them back in their tubes—the correct tubes this time, and make my way around the table. John Gray looks up from his phone finally, to ask Frank something about troubles with the 4G service on this train.

Stopping at the doorway to the kitchenette, I glance back to Joe, who is still sitting there, staring at what seems to be nothing at all.

"Joe," I almost whisper it, but loud enough to grab his attention—motioning for him to come.

He stands up and winds his way around the table, meeting me just inside the doorway, where we can talk out of earshot.

"What's up,"

"Joe, I've been thinking—" I begin, leaning one elbow against the countertop, "and I have a feeling that Tino is hiding something—that he's guilty of something bigger than just the map mix-up."

For a second he doesn't say anything. Which kind of throws me off guard. But finally Joe replies after a pause, his voice sounding hollow and somehow... I don't know. Emotionless.

"What makes you think that?"

"Because! Did you not see the look on his face when I took out those maps and showed everyone how the dates didn't match? How they'd been swapped by somebody?"

Joe refocuses, his gaze slipping off of mine. "I uh.. yeah. I guess.."

I nod slowly, "And then the guy has the nerve to accuse me of switching those maps? If you ask me, his finger-pointing sounded more like a desperate attempt to save face." I shrug one shoulder slightly. "What do you think? You haven't really said all that much about this whole map thing… not since yesterday. Do you think Tino's guilty?"

Joe's gaze is still stuck on the floor—but switches back up to mine a second later. It feels like a long time before anything else is said. "…Nance, I wish I could tell you.."

I feel my eyebrows start to pull themselves a little closer together. But I don't say anything at first, waiting for him to finish. His blue eyes are so full of something that I just can't read.

"I.. wish I could tell you that I knew." he refocuses finally, clearing his throat a little. "But I don't know. It's hard to call shots like that at this point." His words come out sounding so flat and spiritless, I almost have to reaffirm in my head that this is actually Joe standing here, talking to me. There's something eating at him. And I can't figure it out.

"You're right," I nod slowly, reaching up to push a chunk of layered hair behind my ear.

"And I probably should've been paying more attention back there—sorry," now he isn't even trying to meet my gaze.

I shake my head quickly. "It's fine—really. Nothing was said of importance." I look back down. "We can um… talk about it later. In the morning."

Joe nods slightly, not adding to that.

"Right now I've got to go see if Lori has the engineer on course,"

It's hard to just walk away from him with so many unspoken words bottled up inside me. But I do anyway; because I know that the conversation is over. I'm sure that there's something he's not telling me. Before I was sceptical. But now? I'm positive. And to be honest, it almost scares me that I can't get through to him. I can't get him to talk to me. He hasn't been acting normal, and I can feel it and I know it, but when I try to ask him what's wrong? He just closes up again.

What happened? And why doesn't he talk to me about it? I thought we trusted each other more than that.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen: Door-knock poise and misfit boys (Frank Hardy)**

By the time I'm done talking to John Gray about the whole 4G issue, Joe is gone. I'd seen Nancy pull him aside about two minutes ago, but now she's back in the furnace room talking to Lori and Joe is nowhere to be seen.

I'm guessing he went back to our room, as totally unexpected and completely unlike Joe as that is. But then, it's not like Joe is being himself at all today. Man, something just isn't right. Ever since last night, he's been totally out of it. Like one hundred percent. Unresponsive. Thrown. Overwhelmed by something. I know him better than I know anyone, so I can tell. But that's not even the worst part. The thing is? He won't talk to me about it. At all. Apparently Nancy has noticed all this, too.

As soon as Nancy is finished talking with Lori, she grabs my arm and pulls me into the kitchenette at the furthest end of the dining car.

"Frank, I've gotta talk to you,"

"Sure, what's going on?" I pocket my phone and lean back against the counter top, giving her my full attention.

"Where is Joe? Do you know."

I shake my head slowly in reply. "He probably went back to our room. Anyway, what's up?"

She doesn't reply at first—just stands there for a few seconds. Looking downward, her eyebrows pinched closer together. "It's just…" and glancing back up, "it's Joe."

"Yeah? What about him," the question comes out not really sounding like one—because I know exactly what Nancy is about to bring up, and I'm actually a little surprised that it's taken this long for us to genuinely step back and talk about it.

"I'm getting seriously worried about him." she reaches up to thread her fingers through her hair. "I mean.. am I the only one noticing that he's been acting kind of strange?"

"Are you kidding me? I've been noticing it all day."

"I just.. don't get it. Something's obviously bothering him, but every time I try to bring up the topic he just totally brushes it off like it's nothing."

I nod slowly. "Yeah… I don't know what to tell you Nancy—I don't understand it, either."

"Well I was thinking that maybe.." she lets her gaze dust the room. "maybe you could try to talk to him about it. Because you guys are so close, I'm sure he'd talk to you."

I shrug one shoulder slightly, not completely sold on this. "Yeah, maybe. Honestly at this point, I don't even know if he'll talk to _me_."

Nancy raises an eyebrow at this. "…Really?"

I don't reply—just nod a little.

She lets her gaze flit away for a few seconds. "…You know, it bothers me that I can't figure him out—I mean," she pauses to let out an exasperated breath. "What could be so secret… that he can't tell me?"

Nancy doesn't look directly at me when she says it, but I can tell by the look in her eyes—it hurts. She's more than just bothered by the fact that Joe feels the need to hide something obviously so vital from her—she's hurt by it. And if Joe isn't catching this drift yet? Man, he's stupid. Somebody is going to have to give him a whack in the head—and unfortunately, I think it's going to be me.

"I just.. really think it might help if you tried to talk to him," Nancy shrugs a little, returning her gaze to mine.

I nod slowly. "Yeah… I'll do that."

She forces a tired half-smile. "Thanks,"

After that, my plans of getting out of here are quickly crushed as I feel an almost-starting-to-get-familiar hand latch around my arm and pull me back into the dining room.

"Sorry Nancy, but I've gotta steal him for just a sec." Lori explains away.

Nancy shakes her head quickly. "It's all good—I was actually just leaving."

 _OH don't pull that._ I throw her a look—a kind of desperate one. Really, I don't blame her for getting out of here. It's not like she can help me, anyway. So Nancy just smiles and gives a slight wave. And leaves.

It's not like I don't want to talk to Lori, I mean… she's a really sweet girl and everything. But I just look and sound like such an idiot around her, I can barely stand to listen to myself. Does anyone else suffer like this? I'm starting to feel kind of alone on this metaphorical island of misfit boys.

"Did you seriously figure all that out?" Lori asks.

I try to refocus knowing that I must have missed something. "Figure what?"

"With the maps and everything," Lori casts the table a glance with her wide teal eyes.

"Uh, well me and Nancy.. and Joe. We sort of all figured it out."

She laughs and runs her fingers through her blonde hair. "Wow you guys… you're like so amazing! How do you do that?"

I shrug, smirking a little on purpose just because Lori probably wouldn't understand my dry sense of humour. "Well a good detective can't reveal his secrets, now can he." I force myself to relax a little, leaning against the back of a chair.

Lori giggles, whacking my arm. Playfully I think, but it actually sort of hurts for a second. "Oh stoppp." she refocuses. "It's actually really great—I mean, I'm glad we're going back to Bricestone Canyon. At least it's a little closer to civilization than that Scratcherd Bend place.. which is like… way out in the middle of the desert somewhere."

I nod slowly, diverting my gaze. "Mm."

A short pause.

Lori takes a breath, "So anyway—"

"How did you get my number?" the question flies out of absolutely nowhere, and I turn to look at her just in time to take in her fully thrown-off expression. So yeah, maybe it sounds a little weird. But it's been bothering me ever since this morning. And it will continue to bother me until I get a straight answer.

"What?" she almost laughs when she says it.

"Seriously. I really want to know." I look right into her sparkly teal eyes when I say it—just to make some kind of an impression, you know? Just to increase the possibility of getting an answer. For a few incommunicative seconds she just stares at me, totally blanking. Then a little smile finds its way out.

"Okay, fine. Mr. Balducci told it to me."

"Tino?" I raise an eyebrow—I can't really help it. I mean… what? "Are you serious?"

She nods quickly, "Uh-huh. But it's not like your number is confidential information or anything, right?"

I force myself to cough a dry, unamused laugh. For her sake. "Yeah, I guess."

"And I'm glad that I got it from him before yesterday.." Lori's gaze drops from mine—tracing the table and chairs.

"Why?" I feel my eyebrows pull together in a confused way.

She lets her gaze wander. "It's just that.. I don't... I don't feel like I can trust Tino anymore."

"And.. why's that?" I try to ease my voice out as numbly and subtly as I know how, being careful not to break her obvious daze at all. But she snaps out of it, anyway. Gaze flicking back to me.

"I really shouldn't—" she shakes her head quickly, smiling a little. "I shouldn't.. talk about people. Y'know?"

"Mmm, no.." I shake my head slowly and shrug one shoulder, still leaning forward on my elbows and trying to play it all easy-going.

Lori smiles, looking up into my eyes.

I shrug again, starting to feel myself getting a little distracted by the way she's looking at me like that. "Seriously...uh, continue with what you were saying."

She pauses for a few seconds, pursing her lips. "I don't really feel comfortable talking here."

"Um… okay,"

"But if you wanna meet me in the caboose, we could talk about it there…"

I cough slightly into my fist. "Well Lori, to be honest with you, I've actually gotta run. I have a few things to get done and it's already getting pretty late."

"Oh," she pouts, dropping her shoulders in a disappointed sort of way. "Suckie."

"Yeah, but uh.." I straighten up a little. "Maybe—"

"First thing in the morning?" Lori interrupts, her eyes glimmering hopeful at this prospect. "That is, if you're not busy…"

"No no, I'm.. sure I can make it."

She smiles. "Parfect,"

"I'll um. Talk to you then.." I clear my throat, feeling awkward as I try to make my way out of the conversation and out of the room and eventually hopefully out of the train car.

"Okay, Frank—I'll keep in touch," Lori says sing-songishly, alluding to her iPhone, which has somehow made its way out of her pocket and into her hand.

With another quick wave to confirm that I am indeed leaving, I make it to the door, open the door, get out the door, shut the door, jump the coupler, get in the sleeping car.

Okay. That went well. Lori's got some information that I need to hear. For a girl who was all but completely swooning over Mr. Balducci at the start of this trip, it's a big deal for her to be all like, "I don't trust him anymore."

Something had to happen. Something big. It's like all the trails lead to Tino Balducci. Man, I'm aching to talk to her about it. But tonight? It isn't happening. Because I promised Nancy I'd talk to Joe, and that is at the top of my priority list.

I let a exhale ease its way out of my lungs, noting the strip of light weeping out of the crack in the door—I figure Joe's inside, likely not in bed yet. Pushing into the door, I let myself inside.

"Feel like knocking?" that's the first thing that comes out of his mouth—sounding totally dead serious, like if I just did something worthy of the rope.

I open the door the rest of the way, stepping inside completely and tossing Joe a look, who is quickly throwing a shirt on—almost feverishly.

"I can't remember the last time you knocked on our bedroom door—or any door, for that matter." I throw him a pretty smart comeback.

From Joe I get nothing but an eye-roll and a groaned, "Whatever," he pulls one of the towels from the sink and I go right to clearing off the tiny desk where my netbook is hiding underneath all the junk—which by the way I am not responsible for.

I decide to start the conversation off casually. "Why did you leave so suddenly? Nancy was wondering where you went."

"She already texted me. I told her that I have a headache."

I glance up for a split second. "Still?"

"Yeah." Joe goes back to being sarcastic. "Still."

I don't say anything to him about it yet. Instead I reach down to flip open my netbook and sink my finger into the power button.

Joe catches my look, but doesn't hold it for more than a second. He turns slowly, folding his arms up on the edge of the top bunk and blowing out an audible sigh. That's when I finally notice—

Bruises. Blotchy, dark bruises in their freshest stage of potency. And they're wrapping themselves all the way around the back of Joe's neck. No fall—no matter how hard—could make bruises like that. There is no way I'm walking away from this conversation without finding out exactly what is going on here.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter eighteen: Line the tow. (Joe Hardy)**

Everything was going fine. For the most part. Except for how I was locked in this stupid unbelievably hot closet all day with a ripping monster of a headache. Yeah. That was fun.

Then there's the meeting deal. And Nancy was brilliant. But I don't know how I sit there, through this whole thing, listening to every word, watching every expression, seeing Tino almost blow up at Nancy over the stupid maps… I spent most of the time trying to figure out how to ignore the sharp, cold bullets that his glances were starting to feel like.

It's torturous. Until Wonder Cop finally leaves. So other than all that, everything goes totally fine. Until Nancy pulls me aside after the meeting and says, "Joe, I've been thinking—and I have a feeling that Tino is hiding something—that he's guilty of something bigger than just the map mix-up."

I'd be lying if I said that I don't feel the blood start draining out of my head. It takes me a few seconds to conjure up a reply for that one.

"…What makes you think that?"

"Because!" her blue eyes big. "Did you not see the look on his face when I took out those maps and showed everyone how the dates didn't match? How they'd been swapped by somebody?"

I drop my gaze. "I uh.. yeah. I guess.."

"And then the guy has the nerve to accuse me of switching those maps? If you ask me, his finger-pointing sounded more like a desperate attempt to save face. What do you think?"

My hands start dampening. And I still can't really bring myself to look up at her.

"You haven't really said all that much about this whole map mix-up thing… not since yesterday." Nancy looks right at me when she says it. "Do you think Tino's guilty?"

Think Joe, you idiot. Say something. And make it sound believable please? Just this once? I finally pry my gaze off the floor and focus on her eyes, the words suddenly somehow escaping me. "…Nance, I wish I could tell you.."

I wish I could tell you everything. God, you don't even know. This is killing me. I wish I could tell you who Tino Balducci really is. What he did to me and what he's doing to me and what he'd do to you if I told you everything.

"I.. wish I could tell you that I knew," I finally let out the words, clearing my throat and washing the look of confusion off Nancy's face, "but I don't know. It's hard to call shots like that at this point."

She just stands there for another few seconds, staring at me with a look of something that I can't read. "You're right," she finally replies, nodding slowly. Somehow seeming unsatisfied with my answer. And who can blame her? I suck at lying.

I look back down, my gaze feeling so shifty and weak. "And I probably should've been paying more attention back there—sorry," I try to patch up my last sentence, feeling so ripping lame here. It's not like I can control this—this battle making itself at home in my brain. I know because I've tried. I spent all night trying. And it didn't pay off. At all.

"It's fine—really." Nancy shakes her head. "Nothing was said of importance. We can um… talk about it later. In the morning."

I can't make eye contact. I don't even try. But I manage to nod a little. Stiffly.

"Right now I've got to go see if Lori has the engineer on course," and with that, Nancy leaves. Dropping her head slightly and disappearing through the doorway. Leaving me standing here with nothing but the mild, fleeting scent of vanilla and coconuts.

By now the headache is back—and pounding—and draining my brain of every ounce of thought and energy that I ever pretended to own. From where I'm standing I can hear that Frank is still being mister techie support guy, helping John Gray troubleshoot some phone problems. No way I'm sticking around here. No way I'm getting stuck talking to either of them.

Literally all I need right now? Is a freezing cold shower and a place to pass out for at least ten hours—preferably a place that doesn't smell like someone's basement, but at this point? I really don't care. At all.

So I get out of the dining car before anyone else notices me—and head right for Jake's car. After that whole meeting and everything that was said? I have to get an idea of Tino's whereabouts. Because he left pretty ticked—at Nancy. And there's no way I'm letting that guy get anywhere near her. So I step inside Jake's car and shut the door behind me as silently as possible. Then I just stand in the hallway for a minute and listen.

Papers shuffling. He's in there. And that's all I need to know. So I leave. And stop halfway down the hallway of Camille's car—which is the only distance between Jake's car and the sleeping car. The only distance between Tino and Nancy. And I just sit on the floor in the middle of the hallway and keep watch, pulling out my phone and texting her.

 **JOE: Where are you at?**

 **NANCY: hey Joe - where are YOU at? you completely vanished!**

 **JOE: Yeah sorry I had to go back to my room. my head is splitting.**

 **NANCY: oh man, still?**

 **JOE: yeah**

 **NANCY: I hope you're in bed, silly boy.**

 **JOE: pretty much.**

I sigh. Loudly. Into the nothingness of the basement-scented hallway. And let my head fall back and bash against the wall.

 **JOE: so where are you at?**

 **NANCY: just leaving to go back to my room. poor Frank – Lori kidnapped him to talk to her right before I left.**

 **JOE: haha. yeah I think he has a ca-rush.**

 **NANCY: seriously? That's funny. And kind of cute.**

 **JOE: um okay. yuck.**

 **NANCY: :P**

 **JOE: are you back in your room yet?**

 **NANCY: yeah, I just got in. why?**

 **JOE: make sure you lock your door.**

 **NANCY: I always lock my door, Joe. you of all people should know that. ;)**

 **JOE: I know you do. Imma try to get to sleep now. or something like that.**

 **NANCY: haha okay. sounds like a plan.**

 **JOE: hopefully Frank doesn't barge in and wake me up.**

 **NANCY: I'm sure he'll be quiet.**

 **JOE: I doubt it.**

 **NANCY: goodnight, Joe.**

 **JOE: goodnight Nance.**

I think about typing one last message to her, but don't. Even though I want to. Then I get up off the floor and somehow make it back to our bedroom, finding a light to turn on—miraculously—and kicking the door shut. God, it feels like all the blood is going to my brain. It's hard to even describe how smashed up I feel—the dull soreness in my neck has gradually pushed its way down my spine and into my shoulder blades. I can't even remember the last time I felt this beat. It's sick. In a totally not good way.

I reach over to the sink and flick the water on the cold side—even though it comes out cold regardless of which way you turn the stupid thing—proceeding to rip off my shirt and throw it somewhere. For a few torturous seconds I just stand here and let the freaking cold water gush all over my head. So horrible, but amazing at the same time. When I finally can't stand it anymore, I pull back to shut the water off, straightening up and letting what feels a lot like melting ice run down my neck and back. Just go with the brain freeze.

I open my eyes again, finding the rusty mirror looking back at me mockingly. It's like saying "See? See the dark circles under your eyes?" Yeah, whatever. So? I look like a total train wreck. No pun intended, okay? Just… no. But what the decrepit little mirror shows me is something I actually haven't noticed before until like, just now.

The dark purple but somehow almost greenish bruises showing up all the way from my neck to my shoulders, and down through my ribcage. Man, the guy had obviously bashed me in places that I didn't even feel at first. …I feel it now.

The door is thrown open, knocking me out of my daze and almost slamming straight into me. Thankfully I have two nanoseconds to jump back out of the way and grab my shirt from the floor, ripping it back onto my arms. Almost scared for a second that he might see the bruises.

"Feel like knocking?"

Frank gives me a look as soon as he gets inside the door and closes it behind him. "I can't remember the last time you knocked on our bedroom door—or any door, for that matter."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever," Grabbing one of the towels from the sink and dragging it through my freezing wet hair.

"Why did you leave so suddenly?" Frank starts cleaning off some of the junk all over the tiny wooden desk—which by the way I'm not responsible for. "Nancy was wondering where you went."

I shrug. "She already texted me. I told her that I have a headache."

"Still?"

"Yeah." I sigh the word, kind of sarcastic. "Still."

Frank seems a little thrown by my sudden coldness—giving me a look but not really saying anything. He flips up the lid of his netbook and starts powering it up.

I blow out a sigh, turning to lean my forehead into my arms folded against the edge of the top bunk.

"So. Do you want to talk about it?

I let my eyes open, but don't turn to face him yet. "Talk about what?"

"About whatever it is that's going on with you."

Plan A is to laugh it off. I shake my head slowly, trying to get the seriousness in my voice to let up a little bit. "What are you talking about, Frank?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Something's bothering you, Joe," at this point I hear him stand up—so I let my hands drop from the top bunk and slowly turn around to face him. "Do you think I haven't noticed? Do you think Nancy hasn't noticed?"

"What does Nancy have to do with this," my voice comes out sounding way more severe than I'd expected. "Did she say something to you?"

"Does she have to?" Frank looks at me hard—probably trying to read the total freak-out that I'm going into here, "I can tell she's been totally weirded out by the way you've been acting—and to be honest? So am I. What is it, Joe? Can't you just tell me?"

For a second I just stand here and stare at him—unable to speak. The blood back to boiling in my head.

 _God, Frank. You don't freaking know how much I want to tell you._ I swallow my unspoken words along with the lump in my throat. "I already told you Frank—it's nothing."

He slowly shakes his head. "That's not true, Joe—I know you better than that."

I drag a shallow breath into my lungs, turning away from him to press my forehead back into the edge of the bunk—letting it out again in a drained sigh.

Two and a half seconds.

"Seriously." Frank sighs, obviously set on not losing here. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

…I decide not to reply to that one. Not directly, anyway. But it takes me a few seconds to pull in the words before saying anything out loud. "I forgot about those certification forms. The ones for ATAC."

A pause. That kills me. "…You what?"

"I said, I forgot about those—"

"You couldn't have." Frank cuts me off. "I sat here and watched you fill them out,"

I can't even bring myself to turn around and look him in the face, yet. "Yeah, I filled them out. But I never sent them in." Another pause. Where I press my head further into the musty-smelling woodwork. "Don't say it Frank, I already know—I'm a freaking loser."

"…I wasn't going to say that."

 _But you were thinking it._ Another few seconds get away with silence.

Then I hear Frank kick something—probably the wall. "Man, that _sucks_. How could you be so stupid?"

"I didn't mean to, Frank—"

"Of course you didn't,"

"I forgot, okay?"

"You forget _everything!_ "

A pause. A really long one.

It takes me a minute to loosen up enough to drag in a breath. "I'm sorry."

"So am I." Frank turns back around. "But that's all I'm going to say. I know it was a mistake. We all make mistakes."

"Yeah well this mistake is coasting me a whole lot." I take a breath, finally turning around to face him again.

He just looks at me for a second, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I.." I clear my throat, trying to get out of that last sentence. "Nothing. Really, it's not anything. It's just a mess."

Frank nods slowly, not looking too convinced. Another few seconds pass before he says anything more.

"Joe."

"What?" I glance up, messing my damp hair with my hands—which have already started to sweat again. Considerably.

"I want to know what happened to you last night."

"I already told you," my voice comes out flat and so obvious lying. "It was dark and I fell and smashed myself up and ripped my hand open. That's it. Why do you think I look like this?" Obviously alluding to the nasty bruise under my right eye, which has gradually gotten worse. To go with the headache.

Frank nods slowly. "…And how did you fall?"

"Oh I don't know. On my face?" so yeah, I'm being kind of sarcastic at this point. But who cares.

"On your face?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then how do you explain the bruises all around the back of your neck?"

Remember how I said that this is a lie I couldn't get caught in? Ha. Yeah. Not.

"The back of my—…" I reach up to feel just how unbelievably sore it is. Seriously. Everything from my head down feels like it just got run over by a bus. And actually when I think about it, my head feels like it could've been run over too. "I.." as if something else could possibly go wrong? My voice assassinates itself in my throat.

"Did something else hit you when you fell? Did you black out?"

I rip a breath into my lungs. "..I don't know, okay Frank? Can you please just leave me alone?"

"I can't just "leave you alone", Joe—"

"Yes, actually." I take one step closer, tightening the already tense space between us. "You can."

"Joe." he pauses for a split second before continuing. "I just want to know what's going on."

I swallow the dry ache in my throat, lifting my head slightly to look him in the eyes. "Well maybe you don't have to know what's going on. Maybe I can just deal with it on my own."

Frank doesn't look convinced. At all. He shakes his head slowly. "Deal with it on your own? What is it? Why can't you just talk to me about it?"

"Maybe I don't _want_ to talk about it— _did that ever occur to you?_ " The deathly silence that drops after that last sentence makes me realize just how loud my voice has become.

Frank straightens up slightly, dropping his gaze from mine—his eyes scanning the low-lit shadows of the room for something to reply with. "…Fine, Joe. Don't talk about it." His glance switches back to mine. "But you should know.. Nancy's worried about you. About what's going on with you."

I feel myself swallow, the perspiration starting to come out in beads of sweat along my hairline. "…You told me that Nancy didn't say anything to you."

"Yeah well she did." Frank lifts his gaze slightly to meet mine. "She said that she doesn't understand why you won't talk to her about whatever your whole deal is. She knows that you're hiding something."

"Hiding something," I echo, kind of mockingly. But not really caring. "You make me sound like some criminal."

Frank scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I never said that, Joe,"

"Do you have to?" I pitch his own words back at him.

At this, his brow tenses. "Now you're just being immature,"

I almost laugh, sarcastically. "And you? Are being _so_ freaking obnoxious." By now, I can't really take any more of this—I push past him to get to the door, practically clawing for the knob and throwing it open. "Would you just get off my case?"

I manage to somehow get out the door—but not two yards down the hall before Frank stops me, stepping out into the hallway.

"Joe—you can't just walk away!"

I keep walking anyway. "Frank, why can't you just leave me alone? This whole thing is none of your business,"

"It's all of my business, actually,"

"No, it's not—"

"What about Nancy?"

I freeze, but don't turn around yet. Don't say anything.

"Don't you care about her?"

Trying to swallow my heart back down, I figure out after a few seconds how to get the words out. "Don't mention Nancy again, Frank. _Just don't_." I finally bring myself to turn around, facing him. "She has _nothing to do with this_." Stressing those last five words harder than I knew I could.

Frank doesn't reply at all after that—he just stands there with this confused look on his face like if I'm suddenly this stranger that he's never even met before. Like if he can't believe any of the words that just came out of my mouth.

I can't stand it anymore, to be honest. Unable to speak or think or even look my brother in the eyes, I turn and make my way down the hallway, pushing through the train car door and leaving him standing back there.

And this time? He doesn't stop me.

 _FlightFeathers:_ _hmmm I can't remember either! hahaa. I think Tino just doesn't want Joe to tell anyone. Yes! Lori is smarter than she looks/sounds. I really wanted to bring that element to this story. :) Thank you so much for all the kind things you always say about this story! it means a lot to me._

 _Drumboy100:_ _Ooh, thank you for the tip! I'm new to FanFic boards so I didn't know where to post this for the best visibility. :) I hope you're enjoying the story!_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen: Talk about accusations (Nancy Drew)**

I can figure out pretty much anything. I can decipher ancient runes that look like nothing more than chicken scratches. I can disarm security cameras and puzzle out maps of locked-down warehouses and get myself past lasers. I can unlock underground chambers in the middle of the desert. Singlehandedly. I can find centuries-old hidden treasure that everyone has been told to believe are just myths. But somehow, I can't figure out Joe Hardy. I just can't.

For half the night, my mind is eaten up thinking about him, save the meager four hours of sleep that I happen to catch. Frank told me last night that he would talk to Joe—try to get through to him about what's really going on. But I haven't heard from either of them since our meeting. And you know me—left waiting, I get antsy.

The morning dawns beautifully, and I realize that I haven't really had a chance until now to watch dawn arrive and open up a new day—something I've always been rather drawn to back at home.

So when I finally motivate myself enough to climb out of bed and let my bare feet hit the cold floor, I grab the soft, oversized sweater from the back of the desk chair and pull it on over my pyjamas, snatching a pair of moccasins before opening the door and letting myself outside into the hallway.

Everything is stuffed quiet—dusty blueish light oozing in secretly under the window shades. Cold. I pull the moccasins onto my feet. A door clicks open somewhere in the car—close by. On the other side, no doubt.

I stop for a moment to listen—wheezing hinges, then another click. Soft footsteps. Coming around the other side. Headed in the direction of the Quiet sign door. I follow in the same direction, quickening my pace and inevitably my heartbeat with the possibility of who it could be. We meet at the end of the hallway.

"Joe!"

"Nance, I—I didn't even know you were up this early." Blue eyes. Jeans. Unbuttoned white overshirt. Hair a mess.

"I.. uh. I couldn't sleep." I shrug, a hint of a smile begging to get out on my lips, for absolutely no reason.

"Yeah, me neither." Joe messes his hands through his blonde hair, looking down at my moccasins. "..where are you going?"

"To watch the sunrise," I submit to the smile, letting it staple itself onto my face. "Wanna join me?"

Joe doesn't say anything—he just lets his gaze snap back to mine, and after a second, nods slowly. I push into the big heavy door, letting us both out onto the platform, a gust of cold, damp air blasting into me and literally abducting the breath from my lungs.

The train is rocketing forward through what looks and feels and tastes like an ocean of dense fog—great thick clouds of it surrounding every car. The sky is visible, though—a bright, stretching canvas of milky blue mixed with wisps of pink closer to the horizon.

Climbing the mountains, the air is getting gradually colder. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to pull in the heat. Stepping to the edge of the platform in front of the railing and pressing my shoulder into the cold iron.

Joe stops beside me, looking down at the tracks. Neither of us say a word for what feels like forever, but what must be like one minute the very most.

"Fog's pretty thick—there probably won't be much of a sunrise," I point out the obvious, trying to get something of a conversation started.

"Yeah." Joe nods slowly. Another short pause. "Do you do this often?" he turns to look at me, tilting his head of messy ash-blonde hair. Something of a relaxed smile coming out with his words.

"Do what?"

"Watch the sunrise." he shrugs one shoulder.

I let my gaze fall from his for a second—to think about it. "Yeah.. I guess so. Whenever I can." A pause. Then I look back up to him. "Why?"

"I don't know." Joe shrugs again. "I just… I didn't know that about you."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really? Hard to believe that there's something you don't know about me," I laugh, dragging my fingers through my hair, which is long and already getting slightly tangled in the wind.

His gaze drops from mine again, unable to stay locked for more than a few seconds. "Yeah well.. I'm sure there's stuff that you don't know about me,"

I nod slowly, turning back to face the wind and the fresh breath of dawn. "..I'm sure."

The rising sun is beginning to wash the foggy blue sheet over our heads a pale, tasteless yellow, igniting with fire the pink wispies and leaving everything set in a crystallized blonde filter. They call it "fog burning off" back where I come from. But I'm a long ways from there. So I'm totally obliged to use my imagination.

It feels like a long time before anyone speaks—leaving just the rumbling, jostling noises of the train to break the foggy quiet.

Finally, though, I feel my own voice come out sounding quiet but loud enough for him to hear. "..What is it that I don't know about you, Joe?"

Another pause, which I actually expect this time.

Surprisingly, it doesn't last long.

"I.. I don't know," Joe shrugs a little, not sounding completely serious. He leans into the iron railing, turning to look at me. Blue eyes. Somehow looking almost teal in the bright pixels of morning.

For a second I find it hard to pull my eyes off his and speak. "..Well if _you_ don't know, then who does?"

He finally grabs onto my gaze and holds it for more than a few seconds. "What?"

I almost laugh—and I would, if I wasn't seriously wanting a straight answer out of him. "Nothing—just confusing you."

Joe manages to push a barely-amused laugh out with his reply. "Yeah, because you love doing that so much. Confusing me."

I shrug a little, letting the tracks eat my gaze. "…Maybe."

Another pause. This one seeming not so soft, but more like being set to a beat by my rapid pulse which is daring to climb into my head.

I just turn to look at him and say, "Joe. …Tell me."

His gaze claps back to mine—but it only stays for literally one second. That look fuses our eyes into some kind of a connection and I glimpse something that can only be felt.

Desperation. I caught that same look in his eyes when I threw open that door leading from Jake's car out onto the platform that night. Everything was dark. And tense. His beaten disposition flooded my eyes and I realized that something was wrong—and my heart dove into my stomach. Why did I let it slip by at all? Something is still wrong. Very wrong.

"Joe." I stand here, my eyes fixed on his shifty downward gaze. "Please. Tell me."

"Nancy, I don't know what you're talking about—" Joe's words come out sounding abrupt and flat. Fingers going through his messy hair. Looking up—at me, but somehow not really at me. "—I really should go," he turns and makes a move for the door.

"Joe, wait—"

"Please." he cuts in, already having grabbed the handle and pulled the door open part way. "Don't.. be angry with me, Nance," his gaze trails towards mine, but never actually reaches to the full length of being at eye-contact, "I have to go."

And he does. With another pull on the train car door, it submits to him with groaning hinges and that confusing mess of an ash-blonde, blue-eyed boy disappears behind a heavy, heartless slam.

I don't say anything to stop him. Because I literally can't. I don't think I've ever been left so void of words in my life.

"Hello?"

"Hey Nancy, it's Frank."

"Hi, what's up." I pin my iPhone between my left shoulder and ear. Stopping at the door leading into Camille's car, trying to manage to get it open with one hand.

"Just wanted to give you an update."

"Okay,"

I hear Frank pull in a breath on the other end. "Well it's getting pretty late—like, already after ten—so right now I'm heading over to the caboose to talk to Lori. She's been wanting to talk to me about something since last night,"

I let the door shut after me once I get inside the warmth of the train car. "That so?" I smile, consciously killing the urge to tease him just a little. "Any leads?"

"Possibly. Lori might know something."

My eyebrows raise. "Really. That would be… refreshing. Everything seems pretty dead lately."

"Mm. Yeah." Frank sighs. Loudly.

A pause leaks over the phone as I cross the carpeted hallway. Stopping at the door again, stalling my exit into the cold.

"Did you… talk to Joe at all last night?"

Another pause, which he fills with another sigh, this one sounding more drained and less audible. "I tried, Nancy. He's just… He's so hard. He won't open up at all… I've never seen him like this."

At this point I'm leaning back against the wall, my eyes shut and my fingers pinched around the bridge of my nose. "…So it didn't go well?"

Frank almost scoffs a little. "Yeah, that's a pretty big understatement. He ended up totally blowing up at me."

I let out a sigh with my words. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be—it's partly my fault. I mean, there were these forms from ATAC that he was supposed to fill out and send in? And he totally forgot about them." Frank pauses to let out a numb sigh. "I was pretty hard on him.."

"Man." I open my eyes a little, letting my head rest against the musty wallpaper. "So do you think that's part of why he's acting so strange? Because of the forms?"

"I don't think so, Nance."

I take a breath. "…What do you think, then?"

"…I don't know."

I nod slowly, "Well we'll figure it out. I'm sure. Have you seen Joe, by the way?"

"Not since early this morning."

"Same here," I straighten up, willing myself to open the door and get out into the cold. "well I guess I'll let you go."

I hear Frank pull in a breath. "Kay Nance—stay in touch."

"Over and out, bro."

I pull the phone away from my ear, ending the call and pushing out the heavy iron door. Next? Is talking to Mr. Balducci. No jumping to any conclusions or accusations. Just talking. Like civilized people.

The baking soda and vinegar that last night's meeting seemed to stir up inside me has been somehow controlled by all this sleep and sleeplessness and mental fog. I'm glad that I waited for morning to talk to him—the dawn and the sunlight and the brightness of the new day has inspired me.

I push through the door into Jake's car, forcing my mind to clear—to stop thinking about everything. Including Joe. Focus, Nancy.

"Hey, Nancy—how's it going?" Tino looks up from his phone immediately upon my entrance, setting it down face-up on the desk. He seems to be using his nice-guy voice this morning—a good or bad thing? I can't really tell.

I clear my throat, crossing the room, "Everything's… fine. I was hoping you had a few minutes—I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Sure," he shrugs, leaning back slightly in his desk chair. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm not sure if I'd call it a problem," I let my hands slip into the back pockets of my skinny jeans, trying to maintain the casual air. "Although I guess it could become a problem for you,"

Tino almost scoffs slightly—oh so innocent. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the meeting last night." I finally stop right in front of his desk. Keeping eye-contact. "Or rather, what was said at the meeting last night,"

He nods a little, slowly. Cautious? I can't tell. "A lot of things were said at that meeting—"

"I'm talking about the maps. The entire mix-up with them?" I straighten up slightly. "I'm talking about how you accused me of being the culprit of that confusion."

He laughs. Legit. "I wasn't accusing anyone of doing anything, Nancy—you should know that, of all people as a detective—"

"Well it sounded like an accusation to me,"

Tino leans forward with his elbows against the desk. "That doesn't change the fact that it wasn't an accusation, does it?"

Is he legit? Is he really trying to confuse me here? So typical. Guilty. This guy is unbelievable.

I don't even let my expression flinch. "Look, I don't want to get distracted discussing trivial things with you,"

"Okay," he smirks slightly.

It annoys me.

"Why don't you get right down to business, then?"

Now the baking soda and vinegar is going to explode in his face. You asked for it, bro. You shook it up. "Gladly." I pull my hands out of my pockets to plant them—rather hard—in fists down on the desktop. "You're the one who switched those maps. Why did you do it?"

At this? Tino laughs, but it's so forced. "Talk about accusations—"

"There's no point in denying it, Tino." still keeping eye-contact, because that's how you do it. "I know that you're the one who swapped those maps. But what I don't know is why you'd do such thing."

His gaze, which has been fixed downward, suddenly clicks up to meet mine. "…Who told you this."

I feel both my eyebrows raise. "So you're not denying it. You know that it's true—"

"Fine." he relents, pushing back his desk chair and standing, coming up to just slightly over my eye-level. "But you answer me this, now— _who told you_." his words come out sounding tense and heavy—not even structured like a question. "Tell me now, and nobody will get hurt."

Nobody will get hurt? Does he even hear the words coming out of his mouth? I just stare at him for what feels like a few long seconds before replying. "Who told me what?"

"Don't stall me, Nancy—I know that game well, and I refuse to play it." he pauses to pull in a breath. "Who told you that I was the one who messed with those maps?"

I feel the space between my eyebrows crush slightly with confusion. "What? No one told me."

"I don't believe you,"

"Are you calling me a liar?" I pull my fists off the desk top and take a step back, widening the tense gap between us.

Tino doesn't reply directly to that last comment—instead he lets out a frustrated sigh and looks away from me for a few seconds.

I let my gaze fall to the desk top for a moment, the active screen of his iPhone temporarily distracting me. Normally I wouldn't even care to look at something of such little significance—especially when I can't pick it up and touch it and sift through the phone's files and dig up electronic dirt. But this time? My attention is grabbed by the iPhone—because it is feeding through a messenger screen, new texts randomly appearing at random intervals. It's a two-sided conversation, I can tell by the layout. Two people communicating with each other via text message—both sides sending replies right now, as I'm standing here talking to Tino.

How is that possible? He isn't even touching his phone. That's not possible. All at once, the messenger screen vanishes, being replaced by what looks like an internet window. And this, of course, throws me off even more.

"Look, Nancy."

My attention is pulled back to Tino, who finally picks up where he left off, turning to face me again. "Let's just.. go back to what we were focused on before all this—" he straightens up, forcing on the mister nice guy voice again. "I'm willing to let this slide for now, and if you're willing, then we have cooperation." he pulls his desk chair back into place, seating himself behind the thick slab of mahogany again. "Let's just pretend that this whole conversation? Never happened."

"What? No—" I slam my palm back down on the desk top.

"Wait, Nancy—listen to me." Tino cuts me off before I get any ideas about finishing my sentence, somehow managing to grab my wrist with one of his cold, muscley hands—not tight, but firm enough to hold me in that position for a few moments. "If you persist on harassing me like this, I'm afraid I'm going to have no other choice but to use force." he looks back up at me to meet my gaze with his. "….And none of us want to use force… do we?"

At this point I rip my arm out of his sweaty, cold grasp, letting myself step a few paces back. "Fine, Tino. I'm done with you. For now." I regain my composure and try to brush off the note of animosity begging to cling onto my voice. "But just know that this is far from being over."

He smiles the slightest bit—a sick kind. Nodding a little and reaching for his phone. "In that case, I'll talk to you later… Nancy."

And to that? I don't even reply. Instead I just turn on my heel and leave the room in what would probably be considered something like a fevered bolt.

 _FlightFeathers:_ _Yes, poor Joe. :/ He's in a sad place right now. Ffsljdlsk thank you! I'm so glad you like the subtle descriptions I write in here about Joe noticing Nancy's eyes. ^.^ That previous scene was one of my favorites, so I'm very happy you liked it! Your comments are my favorite things and they mean so much to me! Thank you so much. :)_


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty: Automatic Torture Machine (Joe Hardy)**

Remember how Frank said that getting your ATAC Private Investigator ID renewed after it has been suspended is a total headache of a procedure? Well it is. A headache. I'm learning this the disgustingly hard way.

By sitting on the floor of the machine car with my back pressed up against the wall, stuck on some primitive branch of ATAC's online help centre, which is the only page my fickle 4G system will allow me on, texting this quote unquote "contact", which I am totally convinced by now is nothing more than a stupid computer robot.

It isn't helping me. In fact, it is killing me. And I want to kill it. It calls itself Danielle. I hate it. I sit here on the floor for a good hour talking to this thing—trying to get it to understand me. Which is probably a totally lost cause.

DANIELLE: Hello, Joe Hardy. My name is Danielle. Please tell me what problems you seem to be experiencing.

JOE: I need help renewing my ATAC PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR IDENTIFICATION.

DANIELLE: ATAC registers Private Investigators by a series of exams which can be fulfilled at ATAC's headquarters in New York. Have you taken these exams?

JOE: I know. and yes I've taken the exams.

DANIELLE: Have you successfully completed these exams?

JOE: yes.

DANIELLE: Have you registered a Private Investigator Identification with ATAC in the past?

JOE: YES.

DANIELLE: I understand that your Private Investigator Identification has expired.

JOE: wow you are so smart

DANIELLE: I do not understand that comment.

JOE: I need to renew my ATAC Private Investigator Identification. Please help me.

DANIELLE: I need to connect with ATAC Security Cloud and find the information from your expired Private Investigator Identification to prove your legitimacy. Please provide the following information: What is your former ATAC Agent number?

DANIELLE: JH.125560097

JOE: COLLECTING DATA.

DANIELLE: Please be patient while I connect to ATAC Security Cloud…

JOE: Wait no, Danielle don't leave me.

DANIELLE: Please be patient while I connect to ATAC Security Cloud…

JOE: Oh my God.

DANIELLE: I do not understand that comment.

JOE: How do I renew my ATAC Private Investigator Identification?

DANIELLE: To renew your Private Investigator Identification, you must verify your authentication of identity and complete the Private Investigator Registration exam at ATAC headquarters in New York.

JOE: you've got to be kidding me.

JOE: Did you get the information from the ATAC Security Cloud?

DANIELLE: I cannot connect to the ATAC Security Cloud at this time. I can only connect to the cloud if requested by an identified human.

DANIELLE: Please submit a legitimate request for verification.

JOE: What the heck does that mean?

DANIELLE: I do not understand that question.

JOE: you are stupid.

DANIELLE: I do not understand that comment.

JOE: You are a robot. Why are you doing this to me?

DANIELLE: Your Help Centre Contact session has exceeded the Quick Resolve limit of 30 minutes.

DANIELLE: If you would like to continue seeking help, please verify that you are human. Otherwise, your session will be timed out.

JOE: okay. I HAVE FLESH AND BLOOD I AM A HUMAN.

DANIELLE: Please verify that you are human. Answer the following question: What is 3 + 6?

JOE: seventeen.

DANIELLE: Incorrect.

JOE: No duh.

DANIELLE: Your session has been timed out.

JOE: NO YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME DANIELLE. PLEASE COME BACK. I'M SORRY.

JOE: please?

JOE: THREE PLUS SIX EQUALS NINE.

JOE: 3 + 6 = 9

JOE: THREE + SIX = NINE.

JOE: I can't believe ATAC ever invented you, Danielle.

I open up the internet window that has been hanging out at the bottom of the screen, launching a new help chat. I'm not getting desperate. I already am. As desperate. As it. Gets.

DANIELLE: Hello, Joe Hardy. My name is Danielle. Please tell me what problems you seem to be experiencing.

JOE: You don't remember me from two seconds ago? It's me. Joe.

DANIELLE: Please tell me what problems you seem to be experiencing.

JOE:wow. that hurts. I can't believe you.

DANIELLE: I do not understand that comment.

JOE: I HATE YOU DANIELLE.

And I close out of the stupid chat completely. So yeah, getting this ticked off at a robot is pretty low, even for me. But at this point? I don't really care.

I let my phone face plant into the tile floor, letting the back of my head bash into the wall behind me.

This morning has been total suck, starting at dawn. I'm trying to somehow block out of my memory the whole conversation I had with Nancy this morning—how she took me out on the platform to watch the sunrise and everything was a faded under an umbrella of fog. How for a few moments, the conversation felt so casual. But then, of course, the grave of my only horribly-kept secret had to be dug up again. She was practically begging me to tell her what was wrong. And I couldn't—so I was forced to leave.

… _Who am I kidding?_ I chose to leave. I walked out on her. And I feel like a total jerk for doing it. Everything inside me wanted to run back to her and tell her everything—totally spill my guts, then and there. And above all, apologize for being such an idiot. But I didn't. And I feel like I can't even apologize to her now, without having to explain everything.

The battle in my brain drops dead as the familiar racket of the door being thrown open echoes around inside the machine car. I don't even stick my head out from behind the side of the file cabinet that I'm sitting next to on the floor to see who it is. I don't really care, to be honest. The door shuts. Footsteps.

I go back to my phone, unlocking the screen but not really getting past the app page. Keeping my eyes numbly focused on the screen, even when the footsteps come closer and finally stop right in front of me. Black Converse.

"Joe? What are you doing?"

"Nothing," I drag in a shallow breath, not even looking up at him. "…What do you want?"

Frank sighs, loud enough for it to echo slightly in the hollowness of the car. "I just.. I wanted to apologize. For last night." he pauses for a few seconds, and I don't fill the empty space. "For how I was pretty hard on you. I'm sorry."

I keep my eyes fixed on the app screen of the phone, which flicks dimmer from lack of being touched in the last ten seconds.

Train noises. No one talking. I don't look up.

"That's fine—you don't have to say anything," Frank finally turns and cuts across the rest of the machine car, heading for the opposite door. Letting a dose of frustration bleed through his voice.

Leaving me sitting here in my misery. And that's literally it. He leaves, without saying anything else. And I don't say anything either.

So yeah, I know I acted like a total jerk to Frank last night. I get it okay? I want more than freaking anything to be able to rewind last night and do it differently. I shouldn't have blown up at him like that. No matter how frustrated and tortured I was, I shouldn't have. Frank doesn't have anything to do with this. But the more he and Nancy start to catch on and figure out what is really going down here? The more dangerous this whole situation is becoming. For Nancy.

God, I wish I could tell her. I wish I could somehow protect her from everything, so she could know the truth and never be confused or hurt again. Why can't that happen? Just like that. God, I wish Tino had threatened to kill me, instead of Nancy. Then I wouldn't have cared.

My eyes, which have gradually closed under my face-planted palm, immediately open up as my phone starts going into convulsions, buzzing itself across the gold tile. I grab it to check the incoming call. It's her. I pull in a breath, wanting to bash my head into the wall again, but instead I just pick up the call.

"Joe here,"

"Hey." her voice her voice comes through the speaker sounding soft and slightly shaken. "It's Nancy."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she blows out a sigh. "I think so. Can you meet me in a dining car as soon as you get the chance? I need to talk to you about some developments."

I pull in a breath. I can't avoid this anymore. I can't. "Sure, I'll um. I'll be right there."

"Kay," with that she ends the call.

I pocket my cell phone, pulling myself off the floor, and heading in the direction of the dining car. _Okay Joe, figure it out. You're going to go talk with Nancy about the case._ The case. God, how the heck am I supposed to talk about it? How am I supposed to go over "developments" when my mouth is virtually duct-taped shut? This whole thing is such an absolute nightmare.

I pull open the door leading into Jake's car—getting inside and letting it slam behind me. Hallways quiet, shadowed, stuffy. Almost too quiet. For a second, I think I hear footsteps.

I shake off the feeling and roll my aching bruised shoulder, winding around the corner and following the trailing old carpet all the way down the hall to the door. But I don't make it to the door. I don't even make it past the doorway to Jake's study.

Something hits me out of nowhere—two heavy, cold hands slamming down on my shoulders, tackling me—or more like throwing me face first into the wall. I tense up—but defence comes two seconds too late. The first thing I hear after the black fog fades out of my vision is the voice that could very easily be mistaken for a growl.

"You lying son of a—"

I kick him. Hard. Then stab my elbow into his ribs and try to drop out of the hold he had me in for a second there. Instead of jumping for the door and getting the heck out of there? Like I should have? Instead, my inner John Wayne just has to screw me up again. Because this time I twist around and throw at him what would've been a good hard punch in the face. Man, "would've been" are a couple of sick, sad words. More than anything right now? I so want to deck this guy.

He pulls back, grabbing my wrist and locking it in an iron grip, twisting it behind my back—and I swear I can hear it crunch slightly. Clamping his other hand down on my sore shoulder, he nails me face-first against the wall again. This time holding me there hard.

"You want your shoulder dislocated, Hardy?" he drawls hoarsely, digging his fingernails in.

I wince, sucking up the pain instead of letting it show. "No."

"Then you don't move a damn muscle." Tino shoves me up against the wall harder. "You tell me right now exactly what you told Nancy about me."

I swallow the dry, aching lump in my throat, trying to get enough air in to reply. "…I didn't. I—didn't tell her anything,"

"Don't you lie to me, you—" insert curses and his cold, sweaty fingers edging under my collarbone.

"No!" I almost burst out, stopping the pressure on my shoulder immediately. "I swear I'm not lying. I haven't said a word to anyone about you."

A short, tense pause. Tino pulls back an inch or so, his gaze burning into my face for a few seconds. "I don't believe you. I don't believe that a talker like you could possibly keep his mouth shut this long."

"I'm telling the tru—"

"Oh shut up. I've heard enough from you."

I twist around in his grip, somehow managing to get myself out of the position just slight enough to face him. "I don't care, you're gonna hear me out anyway."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes but doesn't slug me, which is a start.

"You don't know how many times I wanted to tell Nancy everything—but I didn't because of you, because of your lame, demented death threats—"

"If my death threats are so "lame" and "demented" then why are you so worried about them? So freaked out about them?" a sick, twisted smile starts to leak out onto his face, "No need to reply, Hardy. I know the answer. 'Cause you know I'm serious when I say that I'll kill her."

I find my voice after a second. "Look, I didn't tell her anything—"

"You're such a lousy liar, Hardy. I can see right through you. First you go blab to Nancy about how I was the one who switched those maps, then you pretend like you have no ripping clue what I'm talking about. You know exactly what I'm talking about,"

"I don't, actually,"

"Fine. Deny it," at this point? Tino drops his hands, letting me out of his vice grip, taking a step back, "It doesn't affect the truth."

"You're right. It doesn't."

Man, this right here is my opportunity to totally knock him in the face and take this guy out. Every atom in my body begs to. But I don't. Because I have nowhere to go. No ATAC to back me up.

So I just drag a breath into my lungs and take one step towards the door leading out of here. He takes a few more paces backwards, through the doorway and into Jake's study, keeping his eye on me the whole time.

My hand closes around the cold door knob.

"What are you going to do, Hardy?" he stops, hands going into his pockets. Shaking his head slowly. "There's no one to run to. You'll never be able to get that ATAC ID back, no matter how hard you try. Never. Not even at their headquarters in New York." he almost laughs, slightly. A sick, mumbled kind. "You better be careful, kid. Or you'll never see New York again."

I nod quickly, raising my eyebrows cynically. "Yeah right," and with that? I am freaking done.

I give the knob a brutal twist, throwing myself against the door which relents to me on groaning hinges, letting me out onto the platform and slamming shut. Echoing iron ringing.

I jump the coupler and get myself inside Camille's car. Into the safety and warmth and audible bleeping noises of John Gray's machinery. Pulling myself together, messing my hair normally.

God, what the heck just happened back there? What did I just get myself into?

How did Tino know exactly when I was going to be walking past that doorway so he could corner me like that? And how the heck did he know how I've been struggling so much to get that ID back? This whole thing is ripping messed up.

 _FlightFeathers:_ _Thank you for reading and reviewing! I always so enjoy reading your thoughts on this story. :) Yes, I really liked the way the interaction came out too. 3 poor Joe indeed. Also I'm happy to hear that you wanted Nancy to stop Joe and make him tell her – I love frustrating stuff like that? XD I don't know, it just adds to the angst of everything I guess. Nancy saw something happening on Tino's phone – like if he wasn't controlling it, but someone else was. ;) All will be revealed in the upcoming chapters! :D I hope you liked this installment!_


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-one: NOOOOOOOO. (Frank Hardy)**

After hanging up with Nancy, I make my way down to the end of the train—which always feels eight thousand times longer when you have someplace to get to in a hurry—and find in the machine car none other than Joe, sitting on the floor next to the file cabinet, absorbed in something on his phone.

Guilt—or something very much like it—stops me in my tracks and makes me stand there in front of him, even though he doesn't glance up at me. "Joe? What are you doing?"

"Nothing." his reply comes out sounding either intentionally or unintentionally annoyed. "…What do you want?"

I sigh. "I just.. I wanted to apologize. For last night… how I was pretty hard on you. I'm sorry."

Joe doesn't reply. Or look up. At all. He doesn't even acknowledge that I'm standing here trying to talk to him. He just stares at the phone in his hands, not touching it. Like in a numb kind of daze.

"That's fine—you don't have to say anything," a little sarcasm comes out, uncalled for. But whatever. Now Joe is just going to play the shunning game? How freaking lame.

I turn to leave the train car, giving him the time it takes me to cross the room and open the door to say something—but he doesn't say a word. I leave. And slam the door. Intentionally.

What? I'm not allowed to show some kind of outward emotional frustration from time to time? Does everyone really think that "Frank has no emotions because he is observant and analytical and has a dry sense of humour"? I'm not kidding. Joe has legit called me Mr. Spock in the past. Do I find this at all funny? No. In fact, at times like this, I wish I could do that awesome Vulcan shoulder-hold thing and knock him out. Anyway, all that is totally beside the point.

Right now? I am so freaking frustrated, I could strangle Joe. But I'm not about to go back there and waste more time trying to talk to him again. I'm already late for Lori. I mean, she's going to think that my idea of "first thing in the morning" is 10:30.

"Heyy, Frank!" Lori waves, snapping her book shut and sitting up straighter as I walk through the door and let it close behind me. "I was starting to think you'd never come,"

"Yeah, sorry about the lateness, I.. got caught up with some stuff." I cough awkwardly into my fist, crossing the room.

"It's totally fine! Don't worry about it," she motions violently towards the opposite side of the divan she's been sitting on this whole time and after a few seconds of standing here looking like a total dork, I realize that she wants me to sit down. So I take a seat on the end of the divan, facing her.

"Omigosh, I've been waiting like all night and all morning to talk to you," Lori gushes, twirling her fingers through her short blonde hair.

"Seriously?" I would be lying if I said that I don't feel my ears start to heat up.

"Well yeah! I mean—" she pauses for two seconds, then finishes a little softer, "you're like the only one I can really talk to. I feel like.. you're the only one that gets me." she looks back up to me, smiling a little. "You're the only one who takes me seriously, I mean. Everyone else here thinks I'm a total ditz."

"Oh come on, that's not true."

"It is, but whatever." she takes a breath, lifting her head slightly to keep eye-contact with me—which is hard, because my gaze is being thrown all over the place for some idiotic reason. "It doesn't matter what they think of me.. as long as I have you to talk to."

"Of course, you'll always have me to talk to, Lori." No idea where that came from, but at least I didn't sound like an idiot saying it.

She smiles a little. Faintly. "Thanks, Frank. That's really sweet of you,"

I clear my throat, starting to feel a little awkward and really wanting to just get down to business. "So um, I was going to ask you—"

"I know, I know," Lori cuts in, sighing in slight disappointment, "you're going to want to pick up where we left off last night—what I said about Tino, and all that."

I straighten up slightly, trying to act normal and casual. "I'm just.. really curious." I clear my throat, starting off differently. "You said last night that something happened between you and Tino that made you not trust him anymore. What happened exactly? I need to know—it could end up being important."

Lori's expression falls into something like confusion at that last part of my sentence, but she doesn't ask me why or how it could be important. "I.. I don't know if I should say. I mean, it's probably not a good idea to spread like, rumours about people. Especially people in higher-up positions of the law when you're stuck on a train with them."

A short pause cuts in here. "…So you're saying that Tino's powerful position is sort of… frightening you out of wanting to tell me anything?"

"Well…." her gaze drifts away, "that's one way you could say it, I guess."

 _Dang. How am I going to get it out of her now?_

"Lori, look." I lean forward, trying to get eye-contact again. "I promise you that whatever you tell me? It won't leave this train car. Okay? Nothing bad will happen." So maybe that's considered a lie—there's no way I'm not telling Nancy and Joe whatever information I get from Lori here. But Lori doesn't need to know that.

She just stares at me for a few moments before bursting out in total desperation, "Stop doing that!"

I straighten back up, feeling totally confused now. "Doing what?"

"Making that adorable desperate puppy face with your eyes like that—it almost makes me want to tell you everything I know,"

"Please, Lori. I've got to know."

She purses her lips, not saying anything for a few seconds. "Okay, well, if you're sure, then…." she straightens up, pulling in a breath. "It happened yesterday. Around like… I don't know, mid-morning? I was going back to my room in the sleeping car to get something, and I heard a noise. Like, somebody jiggling a doorknob."

I nod slowly. "Go on,"

"So I got kind of curious, y'know? 'Cause at first I thought nobody was in the car with me. So before I went to get my stuff out of my bedroom? I just kind of looked around the corner to the other hallway to see who it was. It was Tino—but that's not what weirded me out. He looked like he was trying to get a locked door open. By jimmying the lock, y'know? At first I thought maybe he had accidentally locked himself out of his own room. But then after I thought about it for a second, I realized that his door is at the end of the hall. This was your room he was trying to get into."

I feel both my eyebrows raise. "Really."

This is a lead.

She nods slowly. Teal eyes wide. "And then I got really curious—I mean, like what the heck was he doing breaking into your room? So I stayed out of sight until he got the door open and went inside."

I'm clinging onto every word at this point. "Uh-huh. And then?"

"And then everything got really quiet. I thought I heard some kind of a beeping noise, but that was it." she starts twirling a strand of blonde hair again.

"Did you see what he was doing in there?" I ask, leaning forward slightly, elbows on my knees.

Lori lets a pause slip by before taking a breath. "Well… I started to sneak up on him—but by the time I was halfway down the hall, I was so scared. I mean, what if he was doing something really horrible or even illegal in there, then I would have been the witness of that! I couldn't do it." she shakes her head quickly, looking genuinely freaked out. But then, she is a fabulous actor.

I won't lie—my heart kind of drops into my stomach when I hear this. "…So what did you do after that?"

"I left," she looks at me, eyes wide like this is such a no-brainer. "I ran back to the caboose and decided that I could get my stuff later."

Though I wasn't planning on letting it out, a sigh escapes my lungs sounding totally let down.

"I'm sorry Frank, was it really that crucial?"

 _Ha. Yeah, actually._ But I don't say that. Instead I force a pathetic smile of wanna-be optimism and look back up at her. "Nah, it's cool. No need to be sorry. I'm just glad that you told me."

Actually, Lori has given me enough information for Nancy and Joe and I to go on, we can really figure the rest out on our own. A lead is a lead. Even a hint is better than nothing.

"When you said you heard a beeping noise,"

"Uh-huh?" Lori nods, looking up to me again.

"What did that sound like, exactly?"

She shrugs, blowing out a sigh. "I don't know! A beeping noise. Like a computer, or a phone or something."

I nod slowly. "Okay.."

Suddenly whatever was left of our conversation is pulled to a halt, as is the train. Seriously. The brakes are slowly applied, jerking everything in the train car back an inch or so, and gradually slowing us down.

"What the heck? Lori jumps up from the divan and goes straight to one of the windows, pulling up the shade and letting a burst of white morning into the shadowy room. "Oh my gosh,"

"What's going on?" I twist around to face her.

"…It looks like we've arrived in Copper Gorge early," she shrugs, dropping the shade. "And it's snowing."

"You're kidding."

She turns to look at me. "You're kidding we're in Copper Gorge or you're kidding it's snowing?"

"Uh, kind of both." I rise to my feet, realizing that everyone is going to be getting off the train very very shortly and I need to catch Nancy to tell her what's new before she vanishes off into this little ghost town. "It was um.. nice talking—"

"You're leaving? Already?" Lori climbs over the back of divan, flopping herself back down, cross-legged. "But you just got here like two seconds ago!"

"I'm sorry Lori, but I've got to run. I need to find Nancy to talk to her before she gets off this train," I start to cross the room, making my way towards the door, "but I promise we can meet up later, okay?"

"Okay," Lori pouts, but goes along anyway. "As long as you promise."

I nod, reaching for the handle of the door. "Yes, I promise." And turn to leave.

But Lori stops me, "Is she your girlfriend?"

I freeze in my pursuit of getting out of here—turning around. "What?"

"Nancy." Lori makes her eyes do that thing again. Wide and doubtful and teal. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"What? No," I almost laugh—actually I think I do laugh a little. "No she's not my girlfriend. We're just friends."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

I shake my head slowly. "…No," _Stop blushing, you idiot._

"Oh," she lets out a little hint of a smile, "okay." picking up her book again and flipping it open, pulling her eyes off of mine. "I'll see you later then, Frank."

"Right." I nod and snap out of my slight idiotic daze, turning to push the door open and let myself out onto the platform. Cold, snowy blur. The train has slowed considerably at this point.

Yeah it was difficult to talk with Lori back there, but it was worth it. Even though she didn't see exactly what Tino was doing in mine and Joe's room, break-in entry is a major deal. That explains why when I came back to our room yesterday to synch the phones, the door was unlocked when Joe specifically told me that he had locked it. I'm guessing that Tino must've been in a hurry to get out of there and forgot to lock the door.

This lead could push us ahead really far. I've got to find Nancy.

* * *

"Oh man, you have got to be kidding me," my voice comes out with a heavy dose of frustration. "I can't believe this. Where the heck is she?"

It's not a good feeling to be standing in the middle of a snowy, freezing backwoods ghost town in the mountains that obviously does not believe in hosting cell service, with no idea where the only person you need to talk to is.

Not. Good. Okay. Press rewind. This is how the whole deal in Copper Gorge went down. I searched every single car for Nancy, until finally finding Charleena in the dining car, who told me that Nancy was there a minute ago but she left. To go find Joe. Possibly off the train, which had come to a complete halt at this point.

So I tried to call Nancy. No service. Typical. I had a feeling that searching for her outside was going to be totally fruitless. Copper Gorge is a small town, but still. She could be virtually anywhere at this point, possibly still trying to find Joe, who had apparently gone missing, too.

So I checked the whole train again, all the way down to the caboose (Lori had already left, thankfully) and back. Both Nancy and Joe were nowhere to be found. Totally frustrated at that point, I took my search outside. It was snowing hard—the cold white stuff freefalling out of the sky in big, slushy flakes. Everything else about this place looked even colder and more desolate than the last time the train stopped here. Everything except for the warm, orangey light trapped inside the big picture windows of the diner.

Apparently sudden spring snowstorms aren't rare occurrences in this town. After searching around the train stop and the store fronts, finding absolutely no trace of life here, I'm left standing in the middle of this empty, icy gravel lot. Still no service.

I feel like stepping on my phone. Or putting it on the tracks and watching the train wheels crush it to pieces. Okay, that was really stupid and irrational (like something Joe would do.) I would never really do that—this phone is way too important.

Getting desperate, I cross the lot and bang up the icy steps of Buell's storefront, pushing through the door, immediately greeted by a blast of warmth and tungsten light.

Fatima isn't at the counter like usual, but after a few seconds of standing there in the quiet emptiness of the store, I can hear the taffy machine grumbling from behind the Employees Only door. So I slam my fists into the door as hard as I know how.

"Fatima? Are you in there?"

"Who is it?" she yells back in that edgy southern accent. "And what do you want? I can't hear you."

I sigh and fall against the door, but it doesn't give. Shut tight and possibly even locked. "It's Frank Hardy."

"Frank who?"

"Would you please just shut off the machine for a minute?" I shout through the door.

"I will in my own sweet time, Mister Frank No-Name."

I roll my eyes, letting my head bash into the door. This is what happens when you dare to venture to a place with no cell service.

I wait for a few more moments until I hear the grumbling machinery come to a sickly, coughing halt.

"Now. What'd you say your name was?" Fatima asks, still not bothering to open the door at all.

"Frank Hardy."

"And whadda you want?"

I blow out a sigh, dropping my shoulders. "I need to use your phone."

She scoffs. "Now what makes you think I gotta phone? And that I'd let'cha use it?"

"Because… you can't live without a phone,"

And for some reason she finds this funny—bursting out laughing. "Well aren't you just like one a' them kids who can't go enjoy the outdoors n'less you gotta computer in front of your face."

I sigh again. "Look, Fatima—I need to get in contact with someone. A phone would really be helpful right now."

At this point, I hear the lock click and the door is thrown open, almost sending me into a nasty face-first fall. But I catch myself, tearing around to face her.

"Okay, fine, I've gotta phone you can use,"

At first I don't even recognize her. And I wouldn't recognize her if she wasn't talking to me in that trademarked southern drawl. She's sort of tallish. Thin. Freckles. Brown hair. Plaid shirt. Jeans. Muck boots.

"Whadd'you staring at?" Fatima rolls her eyes and pushes past me to cut across the room.

"Uh, nothing—I've just never seen you without that costume on." I clear my throat, trailing behind her as she leads the way out the front door of the store.

"Hm. So ya haven't." she shrugs, tossing her messy braid over one shoulder. "Well how in heck you think I'm s'pose to run that taffy machine wearin' some stupid costume?"

"I don't know—I never really thought about it," I follow her out the door and onto the porch area, which is starting to collect pockets of the snowdrifts.

Fatima doesn't say anything else on the subject. She just leads me all the way to the end of the porch, where I find mounted to the outside wall a pretty dated looking pay phone.

"This here's my coin phone."

I just look at it for a second. "I believe they're called pay phones, now."

"WHATEVER." she rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "It don't take coins no more, so you can make as many calls as you want. This here's a new instalment—them phone wires and what-not. It cost me an arm n' a leg to get that dang phone comp'ny to come all the way up here and do this. And those dang wires're still hangin' down too low." she tosses her hands up in what seems to be total disgust, heading back inside and leaving me standing here by the pay phone. "I told 'em—I said, one a' these days some train's gonna come on by n' rip them phone wires right out. But did they care? Ohh no…" Fatima disappears inside, shutting the door after her to slam out the cold.

I all but jump on the phone, punching Nancy's number into the chunky plastic buttons. This thing looks like it just popped out of a subway circa 1980. But whatever. It'll do the job. Pick up, Nance, come on. PICK UP.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Frank—"

"What number are you calling from?" Nancy sounds fully confused.

I sigh. "Just a pay phone outside Buell's—my phone's service is dead here."

"Wait—outside Buell's?" Nancy asks. "You're not back on the train?"

"No, I was trying to find you. I need to tell you something that Lori told me about Tino—I swore not to repeat it but I have to tell you—apparently yesterday morning, when we were all going over the case in the dining car? She caught Tino breaking into mine and Joe's room—"

Nancy cuts me off, sounding flustered, "Frank, you need to get back on the train—we're leaving!"

"You're what?"

Like on cue, I'm interrupted and temporarily deafened as the train whistle blares from the station, hissing out a stream of smoke and letting out that telltale sound of brakes being released, rolling forward. I rip around, watching in something like shock as the train starts to leave.

"I'm sorry, Frank—" Nancy is all but freaking out when I get the phone back to my ear again. "I thought for sure you were back on the train—"

"Nancy, just—" I pause for a split second, throwing my surroundings a panicked glance. "—just see if you can get them to stop the—"

And this time I'm cut off by a much more gut-wrenching sound. The sound that comes from active wires being brutally torn out of their electric source. You know that hissing, buzzing, dying sound? Instantly the phone in my hand goes dead.

"No." the word escapes my mouth in a paralyzed gasp. "No no no, this cannot be happening!"

At this point I completely drop the phone in my hand, letting it drag to its full slack on the cord, running to the end of the porch to look out into the station and the snow storm and barely visible through the fog of cold the dead, ripped phone wires hanging down on the frozen ground.

Somebody please whack me in the head and tell me I'm just dreaming. THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING. But it is happening.

And by the time I peel my brains off the ground and shove them back into my skull and drag my gaze away from the phone wire wreckage and look up to the station? The train is gone.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _I'm so glad you liked that part with Joe talking to the robot. XD It was a lot of fun to write and definitely based on a real experience. Haha! ALSO YES. I'm so in love with him it's ridiculous gaaaah. 3 OMG WHEN YOU SAID THAT YOU FEEL AT HOME READING THIS FANFICTION. Thank you! I try to make these characters true to their original selves, so that makes me very very happy. :D You've got it! Tino cloned Joe's phone and is watching him very closely… . EEP I hope you like this chapter!_


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-two: tsydfghjkfrtyk (Nancy Drew)**

I run all the way to the dining car, tearing through to the back furnace room and all but slamming hands-first into the wall—grabbing the phone receiver. The engineer picks up the other end, mumbling a bored, "Yes, Miss Girard? What is it now."

"You have to stop this train! We have to go back to Copper Gorge—"

"This isn't Miss Girard, is it?" his voice comes over sounding edgy and sceptical.

I sigh, closing my eyes to roll them. "It doesn't matter—this is an emergency!"

"Is someone going to die?"

"What? No—"

"Then it isn't an emergency." and with that? The engineer hangs up on me.

I just stare at the unconnected phone in my hand for a few moments before clearing the call and trying him again.

"This better be—"

"You need to stop this train, sir," I'm almost shouting it into the speaker at this point. "We left someone back there in Copper Gorge!"

He bursts out laughing. I'm not kidding. He does. And he doesn't even reply for another two seconds. "Who are you? And where did you come from?" still laughing, considerably garbling his words. "You really think that I can just hit the brakes, throw a lever to switch the engines, and head on back to Copper Gorge?"

I pull in an exasperated breath, feeling the heat flushing my face. "I understand that it's more complicated than that, but you don't get it. We have accidentally left—"

"Who are you?"

I blink, taken aback slightly by the weirdness of the question. "Nancy Drew."

"Right, Nancy Drew." he laughs a little. "The girl who thought Miss Girard jumped off the train or something,"

I roll my eyes, suppressing the urge to tell him that those were not my suspicions.

"Well, Miss Nancy Drew, I don't know how much you understand, but on this train? I take orders from Miss Girard only. I've been told to make a very brief stop in Copper Gorge, then get this train to Brimstone Canyon ASAP. And that's exactly what I'm gonna do." he clears his throat, silencing any objections that I might try to throw in there. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have me a train to run."

The phone goes dead in my hand, and I just stand here for a minute, staring at it. Then drop it back onto its hook.

"Nancy?"

I twist around. "Joe! I've been looking everywhere for you,"

"Me too," he leans one shoulder against the doorframe. "I mean like, I've been looking everywhere for you."

"And Frank was looking everywhere for us, too." I let out a short breath. "And now he's stuck in Copper Gorge."

"What?" Joe straightens up. "Are you kidding me?"

I shake my head slowly. "I wish I was." Gesturing towards the old-fashioned phone behind me. "I tried to get in touch with the engineer, but he just laughed at me and said that I didn't know how complicated it was to stop and turn the train around just to go back to Copper Gorge."

Joe looks totally shocked.

"So yeah." I let out a sigh, dragging my fingers through my hair. "What the heck are we supposed to do now?"

He snaps out of his slight daze after a second. "Talk to Lori, I guess—if she's the only one that the engineer will take orders from,"

I nod slowly, "Good idea." Heading for the entrance of the dining car, I grab Joe's arm as I pass, "Come on, we've got to hurry."

* * *

"Hiiii, Mr. Engineer? This is Lori." our hostess sighs into the phone, "How are you doing today? ….I'm fine. But I seem to have a little problem here."

We managed to get Lori sufficiently freaked out by the news of Frank being left behind in Copper Gorge, and come up to the front of the train to call the engineer for us.

"Well you see, that town we stopped in a while ago? Copper Gorge? We seem to have accidentally left a member of our party there. Do you think there's any way that we could, I don't know… turn around and go back—" Lori pauses, obviously being interrupted by the edgy guy on the other end of the line. "...But we did it once before. Twice before… Oh, I see. Hm. …Yeah….."

Joe and I, who are standing here in the doorway listening, exchange a glance.

"….I guess that makes sense, yeah… I don't know. … yeah." she sighs, then pulls in a breath, putting on her best optimistic voice. "Okay, I understand. ….we'll let him know." and she hangs up.

"Well what did he say?" I blurt out almost before she can get the phone back on its hook.

"He said that he's not going to be able to go back to Copper Gorge until we finish up our business at Brimstone Canyon." Lori explains, looking perplexed. "He said that if we take the time to turn around now, go back to Copper Gorge and get Frank, then turn around again and continue our course, we'll lose a lot of time and he thinks that it would be better if we just went to Brimstone Canyon, checked out the place, then headed back to Copper Gorge on the way home to pick up Frank."

"What?" Joe and I both echo in unison—like literally at the same exact time. I think it freaks Lori out a little for a second.

She nods quickly. "Well that's what he said. And as much as I really don't want to keep going without Frank, I'm sure the engineer is right—I mean, who am I to tell the engineer what to do? I don't know how to run a freaking train,"

AAAAAGH. I can't believe this.

"So you guys can just call him and tell him that it's gonna be like a day. We'll check out the canyon tomorrow morning, then we'll head back." Lori shrugs, like that's that. No biggie. She glances from Joe's shocked expression to my shocked expression. "…is that all you guys wanted me for?"

I nod numbly.

Lori shrugs again. "Okay then. I'll be in the caboose if you need me," and with that? She leaves. A few seconds pass of total silence before I say anything.

"…'Just call him?' That would be all fine and good if he had cell service in these mountains."

"And do you get cell service?"

I nod. "Yeah, for some reason. Do you?"

Joe reaches into his jeans pocket for his phone, lighting up the screen for a second. "I do now. I didn't have service back in Copper Gorge, though. And Frank and I have the same system on our phones."

"Great," I sigh, dropping my shoulders and leaning back against the wall.

Joe shakes his head slowly, sufficiently overwhelmed. "Wasn't there a pay phone at Buell's? I thought I remembered seeing one."

I nod. "Yeah, that's how I talked to Frank last. But the weird thing is, my call with him was disconnected right as the train started to leave. I don't know what happened." I pause for a few seconds. "Maybe I could get back in touch with him somehow…"

I look back down to my cell phone, calling back the last number and hoping for the best. It rings. And rings. And rings. For like almost a full minute it just rings and Joe just stands here and looks at me with this lost expression. Finally I hang up.

"It won't stop ringing," I sigh, locking my phone again. "There must be something wrong with the connection."

"Dang," Joe let his head smash back into the wall a little.

"He did tell me of a lead that he learned from Lori this morning, right before he was disconnected."

"Really. A lead?" Joe raises an eyebrow. Like he does. "From Lori?"

I nod again. "Yeah it was really crazy," I poke my head through the doorway slightly to make sure that Joe and I are the only ones in the dining car. Then I bring my gaze back up to his. "Lori saw something yesterday morning—when we were all in the dining car talking about the case? She saw Tino breaking into your's and Frank's room."

Joe doesn't look surprised. Or unsurprised. His expression just kind of freezes, like if he just swallowed a lead weight. And he doesn't say anything right away.

"That's all I heard from him, unfortunately, before he got cut off…" I keep my gaze fixed on his. "I would ask Lori about it to find out the rest of the story, but Frank told me that he swore he wouldn't tell anyone what she told him. And I wouldn't want to make him look like—"

"Nancy." Joe breaks in, stopping me from continuing. Dropping his gaze suddenly like if he doesn't know how to say it.

"What?" I raise an eyebrow.

"You can't tell anyone about this, okay?" his eyes flick back up to meet mine. Blue. "Don't tell anyone. Forget it even happened. You have to forget about it."

I feel my eyebrows pulling themselves together. "What are you saying..? Joe, I'd never repeat something like this. You of all people should know that." my voice comes out slightly offended, even though I don't want it to.

"I know I—" Joe stops himself, sighing. "I didn't mean it like that, Nancy. What I meant, was.." Blue eyes on mine again. My gaze somehow distracting him from what he was saying.

I just wait for him to finish. Feeling unable to speak myself.

"What I meant. Was that we have to forget that this ever happened. I don't care what Tino was doing in our room—"

"You don't care?"

This? Is shocking. I mean, come on! This is Joe standing here in front of me. Isn't it?

"Yes. I don't care. And neither should you." his eyes glued on mine, now. Unflinching for the first time in what feels like forever.

It takes me a few seconds to find my voice. "….What are you talking about, Joe?"

"I.." his eyes fall shut, breaking the look between us. "…I don't know what I'm talking about, okay?" he lets out a short breath with his words. Then he turns to leave. "Forget I ever said anything."

Something inside me pulls suddenly. I don't know what's gotten into me. Every atom in my body wants to reach out and grab his hand and stop him. But I don't—and I'm an idiot. So he leaves. Like that. Again. Dragging a hand through his messy blonde hair, vanishing through the doorway.

Why didn't I say something? Anything. Why didn't I stop him? That's the last time I'm ever letting him leave me like that.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _HAhahaha I know right?! POOR FRANK. He shouldn't have left the train though, so it serves him right! Muahaha, yes – we authors have to be pretty cruel to our characters. But I'm very glad you like it. ;) YOUR LONG REVIEWS GIVE ME LIFE. Thank you so much! :D Aw, yes, Frank has a thing for Lori…hehe. All I can say for her is this: she's smarter than she seems. ;) Hmm, I imagine Frank to have an expert dry sense of humor, and Joe tries to do the same but often fails (little brother probs haha) because he's more of a silly jokester. :P As a matter of fact, I_ did _update quickly because of your awesome review! Haha, nothing wrong with being a little smug from time to time…as long as you don't go around throwing emergency brakes. XD Thank you so so much for reading, as always! I hope you liked this chapter._


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-three: Anti Wi-Fi World (Frank Hardy)**

Do you know what desperate feels like? No you don't.

Not until you spend a few dark hours sitting curled up on the icy front porch of a closed museum in a small, almost-ghost town, feeling the effects of the cold, which has already started to eat at your toes and fingers and leave you feeling completely numb and barely alive. I have just enough energy left to cup my hands around my phone and try to prevent the battery from dropping dead by breathing into it whatever warmth is left in my lungs.

I had a good idea of the kind of crap this whole case could lead to—but I never guessed that it would leave me homeless in the middle of a blizzard on a mountain with no cell service.

If I was a totally impulsive, uncontrolled person like Joe, I'd probably be killing something right now. Like my phone. Honestly, my phone is the only hope of sanity that I have left right now.

And it dies. Like that. First it warns me. Then it dies.

And for a few seconds I just sit here and stare at the black screen and let my head fall back and smash into the iced-over wall behind me.

 _Ohhhh myyy God. Help me._

I can't waste any time sitting here feeling sorry for myself or I'll freeze to death. So I get to my feet and wander off the icy front porch to Buell's further down the lot where the hazy orange light is leaking out the windows of the diner and throwing itself across the layer of untouched snow… untouched because I think I'm literally the only person still alive here.

I take a shallow, icy breath, plodding up the stairs and letting myself in the front door of the diner. Immediately the overwhelming scent of waffles kicks me in the face, along with the warmth—man, it's so warm it almost hurts to breathe it in and defrost my lungs.

The only person besides me is seated at a booth in the farthest corner of the diner—a dude in his thirties, maybe, with a ponytail and a tattoo. And a laptop.

Wait wait wait. Somebody within a ten mile radius of me actually believes in 21st century electronics. My mind is blown. My life is made. This nightmare might not turn out as badly as I originally thought. Having no other form of life to communicate with, I pretty much make a beeline for that booth.

"Hey. Dude. Are you getting Wi-Fi?" I breathe into my hands, which are starting to thaw a little.

The guy glances up from his laptop screen to give me a once-over. "Wi-Fi?" he repeats with a laugh. Legit. The guy starts laughing.

 _Come on this is not funny._

"Where did you come from?"

I think it's a trick question (sort of) but I answer anyway. "Bayport. Where did you come from?"

He looks at me for a few seconds like he doesn't know who or what a Bayport is, then replies with something like a smug laugh. "The cemetery."

"Are you freaking serious?"

He laughs again. "It's just a part-time caretaker deal—but for work I tune pianos,"

 _What is this place. Am I in the Twilight Zone? I need help._

I just stare at the guy for a few seconds. "Tune pianos? I'm sorry but who within a 100 mile radius of us owns a piano?"

Cemetery Dude laughs and goes back to typing. "You'd be surprised, actually."

I shake off the weirdness and realize that I'm getting delirious… from the cold probably. "So are you saying that you don't get Wi-Fi?"

He looks up. "Exactly."

Okay wow. This sucks.

I take a breath, deciding to get off this depressing topic. "Um, what happens when people are snowed in up here? I mean like… is there some place to stay?"

Cemetery Dude pauses his typing to give me a fraction of his attention, gaze dusting the floor for a few seconds as he thinks about my question. "Uh… not really."

"Well come on man! You don't live up here, do you?"

He shakes his head. "Nope."

"Then where are you going to stay?"

He shrugs a little. "Right here."

"Legit? Right here? In this diner?" I almost start to believe this for a second. "That's…. allowed?"

"No it's not allowed. Not for any schlep who walks in off the street—like yourself. No offense."

I give a dry laugh. "None taken."

Cemetery Dude shrugs again. "I know that I can stay because Lillan would never throw me out…"

"Wait. Who is that. That name sounds so familiar." I feel my eyebrows furrow with confusion. "Is she the waitress here?"

He nods slowly. "And the owner of this place."

"For real?"

Again, a nod.

"And Lillian—"

"Lillan."

"Whatever. She knows you? So she'd let you stay?"

The guy smiles. "Look bro—I don't know where you come from, but up here? Everybody knows everybody and everybody's business."

"Yeah," I manage a dry laugh. "That's pretty much the polar opposite of New York."

By now I've figured out that this conversation is going absolutely nowhere, so I get out of it with a quick wave and a "thanks for your help".

Okay. I can make this or totally, unequivocally, astronomically break this.

What I mean is that I've got to talk to this Lillan girl—yes, the same girl who had me working for her as a substitute short order cook not even a week ago, screaming at me with that chainsaw voice. But hey. There's no reason to be nervous. I'm sure she's a really nice girl and everything.

As I approach the counter, though, and seat myself on one of the bar stools, I am really, really wishing I had Joe's schmoozing abilities. He can strike up a conversation with pretty much any girl and get her to totally melt for him in desperate situations like this. I've always kind of secretly hated him for it. Whatever. It doesn't matter.

The backroom sounds of clanging dishes quiets and I can hear footsteps. I straighten up and clear my throat.

"So it's you again." The waitress/owner, somehow manages to make my appearance sound like the worst news ever, pausing in the kitchen doorway—five feet of a skinny, freckled, bleach-blonde girl with skinny jeans and a sufficiently ticked expression.

"Uh, yes. It's me." I clear my throat again, already feeling awkward. "How are you tonight, Lillan?"

She approaches the counter, running her slightly soapy hands along her jeans. "…How did you know my name?" Suspicion practically painted on her face.

"Uh, the guy over there told me." I point over my shoulder.

She throws the row of booths a glance, obviously recognizing him. "Oh. Hey, Rob."

A muffled "hey" comes in reply a second later, then the waitress turns back to me.

"So," she sighs, not answering the latter question. "What do you want?"

For a second I feel the urge to ask her if she always talks to customers this way. But I decided not to and just shut up. "Um, actually, I kind of need a place to stay."

At this, Lillan immediately raises an eyebrow. "Oh really."

"Yeah, see, that train that passed through here earlier today? I was actually on that train, and I.. uh. Well I missed it. And now I'm stuck. Here." I take a breath, looking up to the owner, who is now leaning on her elbows against the counter, listening with some level of curiosity.

"Now that this blizzard hit, I literally have no place to go, and my phone is dead and I don't have cell service and I honestly don't have anything but the clothes on my back and twenty bucks in my pocket—which I'd gladly give you if you'd let me stay here tonight. The money, I mean—not my clothes, obviously."

 _Woowww aren't you an idiot._

Lillan somehow finds this funny, though. She starts laughing—hysterically. And for a split second I wonder if this is the same girl who was a total drill sergeant to me before.

"First of all," she finally catches her breath, straightening to look me in the eye, "This is not a blizzard, City Boy. This is like… a mild snow shower. You ain't seen nothing yet." she pauses, then continues. "Secondly, I'll let you spend tonight here in the diner only because of the snow—otherwise I'm not so flexible, so don't you get used to it, boy." she smiles and drags her fingers through her long blonde hair. "No pay is necessary. The diner opens in the morning at 6:30 sharp, so make sure you're up and out of here by then, okay?"

I nod quickly.

"That goes for you too, Rob!" she yells over my shoulder to the guy still hunched over his laptop.

"Got it," he mumbles back, barely audible.

I clear my throat and Lillan turns her attention back to me. "Coffee?"

"Uh, sure." I nod, slightly surprised that they still believe in drinking coffee up here. "That'd be awesome, actually."

She gives a nod and doesn't say anything else—turning to leave.

But I stop her before she can make it all the way through the doorway to the kitchen. "Hey, um. Lillan?"

"What."

"You don't by any chance have a universal USB cell phone charger with a wall outlet adapter…. do you?"

She laughs, like I just spoke alien. "Nnnope. 'Fraid you're outta luck, boy."

Ha. Out of luck. Yes Ma'am. I so totally am.

Shut up. That was not a rhyme.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _CAN I JUST SAY THAT Y_ _OUR COMMENTS MEAN SO MUCH TO ME? They really do. :) thank you so much. Haha, I was cracking up at that dialogue of Nancy and Joe! OMG. *wipes tears* lol don't worry, I never seem to rush things – I probably have the exact opposite problem? Ugh I don't know I just seem to drag things out for a long time. But maybe not! Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying this story. :D Hmm, yes, Lori_ is _kind of hard to figure out, isn't she? Yay. 3 I like to make characters unpredictable. Muahaah. OOOH YES truth serum would be very helpful in a situation like this, wouldn't it? XD the engineer is rather cruel to leave Frank behind…*sigh* he'll just have to fend for himself. ;) Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked this chapter!_


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Ttwenty-four: Blowing it (Joe Hardy)**

I hated walking away from Nancy like I did. Every atom in my body wanted to stay—wanted to turn around and grab her hand and tell her that I couldn't tell her, that it was for her own good and she just needs to believe me.

Frank obviously learned something big from Lori—that she found Tino breaking into our room yesterday morning. That's all we have to go on, but man—it's enough for me. I piece the whole thing together in my head—rapid-fire.

First I left my phone in my room. I locked the door and when I was away, Tino broke in and did something—obviously nothing noticeable, because Frank would've said something if there was any sign of disturbance in the room. Frank went back to our room, synched the phones, and gave me back my phone, saying that all the installs were finished. But for some reason, my phone asked me to affirm some kind of an implant. I can't even remember exactly what it said.. but an implant? What did that even mean?

Frank didn't say anything about a plug implant, and that deep-seated borderline suspicion about the whole thing? It's starting to surface. And I'm starting to realize that I've screwed up. Big time.

Something is up with my phone—something happened. Something happened that day. It must have. I've been keeping my phone on my person, like Frank ordered me to, 24/7. Like all the time. And somehow, Tino Balducci knows where I am. Like all the time. And he knows who I'm calling. And who I'm texting. And who I'm talking to. And what I'm talking about with them.

At this point, I'm halfway down the hall in Camille's car, and my heart has successfully dove into my stomach.

I don't waste any time—instead I rip my phone out of my pocket, unlocking the screen and slipping right into the downloads folder, scanning the most recent, but ultimately looking for the date. I instantly recognize the file name—AC 2558 (AutoClone series D.2)

I stop immediately, just kind of frozen there halfway down the hall of Camille's car. Staring completely stunned in the stuffy quietness and the subtle bleeping of John Gray's machinery just inside the doorway.

"Oh my God.." my words come out sounding strained. Sounding like I'm about ready to kill something. And I am. "Oh my God I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS."

"Who's there?" I hear John Gray's voice come from the other room, obviously having heard my outburst. "What's going on out there?"

I'm too freaked out to reply or pay attention to anything other than the downloads screen on my phone, which I violently swipe down to check the last download before the AC 2558.

Plug implant #01224586.

I take my Swiss Army knife out of my jeans pocket, flicking open the thinnest blade and popping off the back of the phone—exposing its guts and something else. A silver coded chip planted into the circuit board. It's unfamiliar—I've seen the guts of this phone enough times to know right away that it doesn't belong.

The implant has to be a live stream recording device—and the download? I think the download is pretty self-explanatory. I mean… Auto Clone? What the heck was I thinking affirming that? What is wrong with me?

When Tino broke into our room that day, he must've been bugging and cloning my phone.

That explains how he knew what I was talking to Nancy about. That explains how when Nancy was texting me before that meeting the other night, he was reading something on his phone—our conversation. That explains how he knew that I was trying to get my ID back and exactly when I would be passing by the office doorway in Jake's car. All the dots connect. All of them.

I'm not a techie like Frank, though. I don't know the first step to removing this chip without majorly upsetting (and possibly even breaking) my phone. So I'm stuck.

"Dang it," I groan, ripping my hand through my hair.

"Yo. Hardy." John Gray sticks his head into the hall, throwing me a weird glance and a wave. "What's up?"

I let out a sigh. A long one. "You don't want to know, man."

"Somethin' wrong with your phone?" he notices the ripped apart device and Swiss Army Knife in my hands.

"Yeah, actually, there is." I look back up to him. Light bulb moment. "Could you… help me with it? By any chance?"

John Gray shrugs, still not stepping out into the hallway. "I could look at it," then he disappears back inside Camille's room. So I pocket my knife to look less like a creeper and get inside the low-lit makeshift ghost lab.

Okay, so yeah this is a little risky, trusting that John Gray can keep a secret—not to mention letting him handle my phone. (Frank would be having a heart attack if he knew.) But it's not like I have any choice. I don't know how to get the bug out of my phone, and John Gray is the only person on this train who knows the difference between an iPhone 5 and an iPhone 5s. (Which by the way, I still don't know.)

"So what seems to be the issue?" John Gray looks up at me once I cross the room, untangling a knot of wires. I look down to power off my phone before talking to him about anything.

"Uh, well see… my phone has been bugged."

"Bugged." he makes a sceptical face.

I nod. "Yeah. With a tracker and recording device."

His gaze goes to the phone in my hand. Then he raises an eyebrow. "Whose bad side are you on?"

"Uh, everyone's, to be honest." I clear my throat. "So, you think you can remove it?"

He shrugs. "Sure," reaching out for me to hand over the phone.

"Really?"

He rolls his eyes. "Sure."

"Okay, and one more thing." I drop the phone into his hand. "There's also this new instalment that you'll see in the program files. It's called AC 2558, AutoClone Series D.2. Do you think you could somehow uninstall that, too? To break the connection between this phone and the clone?"

John Gray nods, but looks at me like I'm from Mars. "Man. Bugged _and_ cloned? Someone seriously don't like you, bro."

I force a laugh. "Yeah, seems so." I look up. "But you can't tell anyone, okay? This is totally confidential. One hundred percent between you and me."

"Got it." John Gray flips the iPhone over in his hand. Probably geeking out over the sleek ATAC hybrid design.

"So how long will that take…? Do you think,"

"Uh, probably like a day."

"For real?"

"Yeah man," he sets the phone down next to his laptop. "this kinda crap takes time."

I shrug. "Okay, that's fine. Thanks for being willing to do this—I really appreciate it."

"Notta prob," he mumbles sort of to himself as I turn to leave. "Seems like electronic surgery is all I do, these days."

* * *

It's been like 12 hours since we last heard anything from Frank—and the stupid thing is? Nancy and I seem to be the only ones at all concerned by that. I thought that Lori at least, with her infatuation with him, would be sort of freaked out by the lack of communication going on here. But apparently not.

Nancy and I have both tried getting through to his cell phone so many times… to no avail, of course. The rest of the day drags on, cloudy and gray but way warmer than it was in the mountains. It takes all afternoon for the train to reach its destination, Brimstone Canyon.

So naturally, by the time we stop here, it's dark. And no one is going anywhere to investigate. Because apparently we don't believe in flashlights. I can kind of understand the logic behind not exploring a centuries-old mine in the dark, but COME ON. Where does the adventure part figure in? It doesn't. These grown-ups don't know how to have a good time.

I can tell that Nancy is anxious about getting off the train to investigate Brimstone, but she chidingly assures me later on that "we can wait". Well, obviously. But it's not like we're going to get any sleep tonight, anyway.

I don't get the chance to talk with Nancy much, or even apologize for the weirdness yesterday—how I walked out on her with no explanation. It doesn't appear to really bother her. Either that, or she's really, really good at hiding her true feelings. Something tells me that it's the latter. In which case, I need to talk to her.

It feels strange trying to get to sleep in my room alone—having no idea of where Frank is and what the heck happened back there. I figure out pretty quickly that I can't sleep—for multiple reasons. So I don't even try.

I pull myself out of my death trap of a bunk bed, throwing on a pair of black jeans and a white button up overshirt—not bothering to button it at all. It's one or two in the morning, I'm guessing by the looks of where the waxing crescent moon is hanging in the sky.

I let myself out of my room and wander as far as Camille's car, which is dark and noiseless until I flick on a few lamps. Glancing over John Gray's equipment, I quickly locate my phone, laying with its guts all open and different wires hooked up to it like IVs and heart monitors.

I sigh and seat myself on the totally uncomfortable antique couch thing. Letting my head rest against the wall.

It feels weird to have the train finally stopped. Like, completely still. Noiseless. Motionless. It makes everything feel cold and dead.

A door-opening, grinding click tears me out of my thoughts and slight tired daze, and I look up to the doorway—instantly kicking my pulse back to high.

"Joe?" Nancy takes a step into the softly-lit room, pulling her gray sweater closer around her over her pyjamas. Even in the fuzzy yellow wash that the room has turned into, I can see her raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know anyone else was awake—I thought someone had forgotten to turn off the lights in here."  
I shake my head slowly, straightening up and trying to get myself a little more focused. "No, I just turned them on, actually. Why are you up? Checking to see if the lights are off?"

Nancy rolls her eyes and I detect something like a smile tracing her lips—but only for a second. She takes a seat beside me on the couch. "I believe I asked you first."

Blue eyes. Sparkling, reflecting the stained glass lampshade across from us.

"What?" I snap out of it, hopelessly unfocused.

"I asked you why you're up…?"

"Oh, I uh.." I clear my throat slightly, dropping my gaze down into my hands. "I couldn't sleep. It's too quiet."

"Too quiet?" Nancy repeats, cocking her head to the side a little. "What, are you the type who needs white noise playing all night in order to get to sleep?"

I shrug one shoulder, barely. "Maybe. I don't really know."

She nods, gaze drifting.

"So why are you up?"

"Just the same." Nancy sighs softly, running her fingers through her long reddish hair. "I can't sleep either. Not because of the silence but more of… I don't know."

"Anxiousness?" I offer, pulling my downward gaze back up to meet her's.

She drops her head into a slow nod. "I know, I shouldn't be anxious… I mean, there's no way we could've explored Brimstone tonight, it's just…. I'm aching to know what's here."

"Yeah, me too," I run my open palms over my jeans. "I guess we're just too impulsive for our own good,"

Nancy laughs, "I guess so.." then she lets out a sigh, falling back into the upholstery. "First light's like… five hours away. Do you think we can bear the wait?"

I nod slowly, managing something like a smile—though it feels forced, trying to bleed out past the frustration bottled up inside me. "We can always just stay awake until then to keep each other sane."

She smiles and breathes a laugh, dropping her gaze from mine. "True…" she pauses, "Not like there's anything to do but wait..."

I shrug. "Well I don't know. We could always run the tops of the train cars—it's not like we're moving anymore, so that is totally politically-correct and safe."

Nancy smiles and rolls her eyes kind of. "Well if the train isn't moving, then what fun is that?"

I laugh—genuinely for the first time in what feels like a long time. "So true."

"Or…." Nancy trails, her gaze dusting the room, "we could go outside and lie in the sand and watch the stars."

"Watch them?" I raise an eyebrow.

She nods. "Yeah.. haven't you ever done that?"

I shrug one shoulder. "Not.. really, no."

Her blue eyes widen at this. "You've never lived."

"Well have you ever gone sky-diving with a broken parachute?"

She smiles playfully. "No."

"Then you've never lived."

"Fine," Nancy pulls her feet up onto the couch and wraps her arms around her knees, "Next time you go sky diving with a broken parachute, just let me know and I'll come along."

I nod slowly. "Yeah, well… I have a feeling that star-gazing is going to happen sooner than that will."

Nancy laughs and rolls her eyes, "Fine by me." her gaze is pulled away from mine, distracted for a few seconds. "You know I was thinking—tell me what you think," she pauses to pull in a breath, "If we both head out at the crack of dawn, we can get out to the canyon and start poking around before anyone tries to join us. I know that sounds incredibly selfish of me, but… someone is inevitably going to try to come with us…"

"Of course." I add dryly. "Typical. Never leave the sleuthing to the real sleuths, oh no."

Nancy smiles a little sympathetically. "Right. So I'm thinking that if we head out at first light, it might give us a good head-start."

"Yeah, I agree—totally. That's smart," I nod quickly in agreement. "I'm totally game for that."

"Sweet."

A moment of silence passes between us. Total silence. With nothing to crack it but the fizzling of an old tungsten bulb.

Then Nancy lets out a soft, tired sigh. "I can't stop thinking about Frank—why do you think he hasn't called? What could've happened back there?"

I pull in a breath, lifting my shoulders in a subtle shrug. "I don't know, Nance. It's weird."

"Yeah," she shakes her head slowly, gaze bright and blue and fixed distractedly on the darkened window across from us. "It feels especially weird, investigating without him. Y'know?"

I nod. "Yeah…. I don't think I've ever worked on a case without him," blowing out a sigh, "but I have a feeling that nothing has gone majorly wrong. Frank knows how to get himself out of some deep crap, believe me. We both do."

Nancy lets a little hint of a smile pull on her lips. "I know…but…"

I raise an eyebrow, dropping my head slightly to hook our gazes back together. "But…?"

"I could be totally wrong—" she lets a pause slip in between her sentences. "But I have a suspicion that the whole mishap with Frank being left in Copper Gorge was some kind of.. set-up."

"A set-up… by who?"

Nancy studies my expression for a long moment before replying. "Tino."

I feel myself swallow a weight, along with her words. "Mhm?"

"I had a conversation with him a few days ago—about the screw-up with the maps and how he was accusing me of switching them,"

I cut her off before she can fully finish. "You talked to him at the meeting?"

"No," she shakes her head quickly, "Not at the meeting—but afterwards. I went to see him and talked to him about it—"

"Alone?" a sick feeling pulls down into my chest at this point.

Nancy furrows her eyebrows slightly with confusion, nodding slowly. "Yes…"

"Why did you do that?" the words come rushing out of my mouth without any thought. "You shouldn't have gone alone—what if something had happened to you?"

A moment of painfully dead silence drops into the room at this point—making us both feel the weight of those words. I regret opening my mouth.

Finally Nancy tilts her head slightly to the left, looking me right in the eyes with total confusion. "…What are you talking about, Joe?"

I don't reply—my voice trapped somewhere in my throat, unable to get out.

After a few seconds, she fills in the silence. "…I was just going to talk to him.. I wasn't confronting him about anything. At all."

"I know, but—" I stop myself before I can go any further.

"But what?" her blue eyes all but reach into mine, dragging out the words I've been dying to speak.

"I don't know," my voice comes out with an uncalled-for aggravated edge to it. "Something could've happened to you—"

"Like what?" she cuts in, throwing her hands up cluelessly. "I wasn't confronting him—it was just a civil conversation,"

I open my mouth to come back with something, but all the right words are murdered in my throat. So we just stare at each other, unable to connect for a few long moments, before Nancy finally breaks the quiet.

"Joe." she says, looking intensely into my eyes. "I need you to tell me—do you think Tino is dangerous?"

 _Do I think._

I barely know how to breathe. And not just because of the question lingering in the air between us, or because my voice has totally vanished—but because of the intensity in her eyes which are nailing themselves into mine and the burning, bleeding feeling inside me that I can't understand or put into words.

God, I want so badly, more than anything, to tell her everything. I can almost see the tangible hurt bleeding out onto her face, pushing us apart in some unseen way.

"Joe…." her voice wakes me up out of my slight mental coma. "Joe. You have to tell me what you're thinking."

"Yes, he is dangerous, but I can't tell you why." I straighten up and shake myself out of this sense of instability for like two seconds.

If that look of total hurt wasn't already apparent on Nancy's face? It just broke out completely. "You what?" she echoes.

"I said, I can't tell you why."

"Why not." her eyebrows lax into something more like determination than confusion.

I can already feel the tension starting to bite at me. I pull in a shallow breath.

"If you know something, don't hold it back." Nancy keeps searching my eyes for something—that reading look. Back and forth.

I snap myself out of it—whatever "it" is—and stand up.

So does Nancy. Bringing herself up to my level, but still looking slightly upwards into my eyes.

"Don't hide it from me." her words come out so heavy—I can almost feel them hit me.

"I have to, Nancy—" again, sounding so loud and severe without fully realizing it, "You don't understand—"

"You're right." she raises her voice, taking a step forward, and closing the space between our faces to mere inches. "I don't understand—at all. So why don't you just explain it to me?"

" _Because I can't!"_ I find myself suddenly reaching up and grabbing her by both shoulders, making her blue eyes fling open wider.

And that's when I feel her warm, shaky breath touch my face, and suddenly everything registers all at once—her closeness. How loud my voice has become. Her shoulders closed in the pressure of my warm, shaking hands. The void where words should be. The burning ache in my chest that I try so hard to beat to ashes. My heartbeat. Her breath.

I let go, dropping my hands and pulling back a few inches, just to get some space between us even though it's the most painful thing to do at this point. "….I'm sorry, Nancy."

She doesn't speak, letting the silence be eaten by her own shaky breathing, which sounds somehow incredibly loud to me. As does the pounding of my heart in the back of my skull.

And the barely-whispered words as they find their way out again.

"I'm sorry."

I can't stand the silence anymore—or her blank, stunned, wide-eyed expression. So I step around her, and make a move to leave the room.

"Don't," her thin, warm hand grabs my wrist, pulling me to a stop. And for some reason, I feel my heart try to stop beating for a split second.

I slowly turn my head to face her, letting my gaze drag from her fingers, back up to her eyes.

"Joe, don't.. please."

"…Don't what?" my voice tense. Hard. Something I totally don't want it come out sounding like.

She doesn't reply immediately. "…Don't leave me like this again." she drops her gaze again, letting her breath out in a broken sigh, "Please—just talk to me. I have to know what's going—"

"I can't do that, Nancy." I shake my head slowly. Numbly. "I can't.. tell you."

"Why," Nancy doesn't word it like a question at all—but lets out the word, barely audible, hidden in a pained sigh. "I thought…" she lets her hand slowly fall from my wrist, breaking our touch. "…I thought we could talk about anything."

This whole time I thought it was hard—it felt like every word was knifing me in the chest.

But her last sentence? It weighs more than every other spoken word put together. It cuts hard. And deep.

"We can, it's just—"

"No," she interrupts, shaking her head slowly. "No, apparently we can't."

"Nancy, I—.." I cut myself off. Letting my eyelids close for a split second. Breathing out. Completely clueless when it comes to finding the words. "…I'm sorry."

At this, Nancy nods slightly. Barely. "…So am I." And this time, she's the first to leave. To slip around me, vanishing through the doorway in a blur of low-lit shadows, getting out into the hall. Quick footsteps. Then the door thrown open, slammed shut.

I tear around and cross the room, feeling like grabbing something and throwing it at the wall—feeling like I can't contain this rush of burning energy inside me.

I stop at the other end of the room, where the machinery is spewed all over the floor. Dragging my hands through my messy hair and letting my eyes close for a few long, silent moments.

 _Man, I just totally blew it._

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _HAHA YES – I can totally picture Joe getting super angry over things that aren't going well…ah well, he's kind of already in that situation isn't he? Poor Joe. x) But the worst is yet to come! Muahahah… *rubs hands together like a malicious writer* ahaha I love reading your comments so much! They always brighten my day. :D Enjoy this chapter!_


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-five: Focus (Nancy Drew)**

Man, what the heck was that? I have no idea.

I've never seen Joe like this. It's like suddenly he's a whole different person. I thought I used to get him. I thought we got each other. But I've never felt so distanced from him as I do now. It's like some unseen force is pulling us apart.

I lay awake thinking about it. Not getting back to sleep at all. And by the time dawn breaks, I'm not feeling at all like pulling myself out of bed, into the cold, semi-darkness to explore Brimstone Canyon.

It's not like I'm not excited to—I am. But the deep-seated anxiousness that had made itself so at home in my heart has just been calloused by this dull ache that I can't really describe.

I finally pull myself out of bed, into the cold. I get dressed, then round up a bunch of supplies, dumping them into my giant backpack—as well as a few other things that I may or may not need, like the two maps, Ruth's letter, and my notebook. I get out of my bedroom as quiet and light-footedly as I know how, making my way through the next door, into the dining car.

It's quiet and dark and somewhat chilly. Shafts of foggy bluish dawn stumbling softly inside through the unshaded windows.

I drag a breath into my lungs, not knowing if he's even here. He could've decided not to show. Everything he said and did last night proves that conclusion more and more likely. And if he is here, what will I say to him? It feels strange, not knowing what I'm going to say to Joe. Conversation always came so natural to us.

I'm not angry at him. Not at all. The only way I know how to describe it is... frustrated. Not at Joe specifically, but just.. in general. At myself. At this confusion. At everything.

I clear my throat, pushing myself through the doorway into the furnace room—a rush of something like relief coming over me when I see him.

Denim jacket. Converse.

"Didn't think you'd be up." I stop in front of him, meeting his downward gaze. "I mean… I didn't think you'd still want to do this."

Joe lets out a sigh, letting his eyes fall shut for a few seconds and shaking his head slowly. "…God, Nancy—I'm sorry."

I nod slowly, managing a little taste of a lousy smile. For his sake. "I know. And I'm sorry, too."

He finally brings his gaze up to meet mine. Blue. "I was never angry with you, Nancy.. I was just frustrated. Not by you, but.. just…" he stops struggling for the words after a few seconds, letting out a sigh instead.

"I get it." nodding and running my fingers over my messy braid. "Really."

He nods slowly, holding this eye contact for a long moment.

"Well, uh, if you're still on for exploring the canyon with me, then… we better get going." I shrug one shoulder towards the door.

Joe nods quickly. "Yeah, totally." Grabbing his backpack from the floor.

I turn to descend the steps and reach for the door handle—but that's as far as I get. A voice stops me. A very particular, arrogant, drawling voice that I would recognize anywhere.

And it doesn't so much startle me as it makes my heart drop like lead into my stomach.

"So where do you kids think you're going this early?"

Dang it. We were this close.

I somehow remember how to keep my cool, turning slowly to face him—at almost the exact same second that Joe does.

"How long have you been standing there? I didn't even hear you come in.."

"Didn't even hear me come in, huh?" Tino laughs, crossing his arms and shrugging slightly. "Maybe that's because I try to make it a habit to act with some level of tactfulness; something that you kids could learn—lumbering around this early in the morning, slamming doors, waking everyone else up."

I know for a fact that Joe and I were both totally silent—so that is one of the stupidest explanations I've heard in a long time.

"Well I'm sorry we woke you up." Resisting an eye roll. _Really. I am so sorry we woke you up._

"Never mind…" he shrugs. "Anyway, you didn't answer my question."

"What question."

"I asked you kids where you think you're going…?"

Oh, the "you kids" again. Give me a break.

For a few moments, we are both completely at a loss for words, leaving Tino to just stand there looking from Joe to me with this idiotic smile on his face.

"Actually, we were going to get a head start on checking out the canyon," I take a breath, squaring my shoulders and slipping into my best air of confidence.

"A head start, huh?" he runs his fingers aimlessly over the top of the stove, which I childishly begin to wish was actually running just so it could burn his stupid hand. "Or is it… an unfair advantage?

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life." I want to roll my eyes so badly—but don't. Joe still isn't saying anything, which isn't really helping me out at all.

"Okay, whatever," Tino holds up his hands oh so innocently. "I'm just concerned for you guys—"

I nod, pinning an unsatisfied smile to my face. "Mhm. Sure."

"Honestly." he crosses his arms again. "Any trained detective would know that it isn't smart to go off poking around an unexplored place without leaving at least a note or something to tell where you've gone."

 _Did I ask for your advice, Mister "Real Detective"?_

I clear my throat. "What makes you think we didn't leave a note? Anyway, we weren't planning on getting in any kind of a situation that would detain us that long."

He laughs in that stupid smug way. "We rarely plan misfortune—rarely see it coming, even." and for some reason at this, he shifts his glance back to Joe, "Isn't that right, Hardy?"

Hardy? What the heck. This is too much.

Joe doesn't even reply to this. He just gives Tino that unflinching, unfazed look. Leaving me to wonder what is going on that I'm completely not getting.

I keep my eyes fixed on him for a moment—hoping that my questioning sidelong glance will maybe pull an explanation out of him. But the feeling of uneasy confusion vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared.

"Anyway, no need to worry about that—" Tino changes the topic almost right away. "I just left a note on the table in there saying that all three of us have gone to investigate the canyon and there's no need for further assistance—not like anyone else here besides us is at all interested in exploring an old mine. I said that we'd be back before dark."

Wow okay, I'm really starting to not like this idea.

"Before dark?" I force myself to let out a light laugh. "I doubt that it'll take us all day." I could almost swear that I feel Joe cast me a glance. But I don't return it just yet.

Tino shrugs one shoulder. "Well you never know."

I pull an annoyed breath out of the air, sufficiently crushed that mine and Joe's investigation has to be intruded upon by Tino Balducci. I mean, he's the very last person I wanted to join us. Why did this have to happen?

Whatever. There's no point in wasting any more time talking here—I've been aching to thoroughly explore Brimstone Canyon, and no amount of low-grade annoyance is going to stop me.

So I turn around and pop open the train door, stepping out into the wide open space, looking straight ahead to a bleak, craggy canyon. Everything is washed a milky blue from the dawn and the brightening sky.

I hold the door open and Tino emerges from the train after me, not even casting me a sideward glance, but rather continuing in that determined stride towards the opening of the canyon.

So annoying.

"You coming, Joe?"

"No."

I rip my gaze off the arrogant police detective, who is quickly wandering deeper into the canyon, and glace back to the doorway, where Joe is standing. "What? What did you say?"

"Nancy, I'm not going. And neither are you."

The next thing I feel is his hand lock around my arm and pull me back up into the doorway with him.

"What are saying—? Let go of me," with a quick jolt I rip out of his grip, making his eyes widen a little at my sudden frustration. "Of course I'm going."

Joe shakes his head, reaching across my shoulder to brace his arm in the doorway, blocking my escape. "You can't go, Nancy. And neither can I."

I lean back slightly against the door frame, trying to ignore how close his bright blue eyes are to mine. I swallow hard. Shake my head slowly. "Look. I don't know what's wrong with you all of a sudden, but I have to go investigate. I've been waiting so long for this, are you seriously asking me to stay here and let Tino go discover the mine alone?"

Joe doesn't reply at first—the tightness of the space between us forcing his gaze to flick back and forth from each of my eyes. "Yeah, I guess that is what I'm saying, in a sense—"

"Well that's absurd. I'm sorry, Joe—but even you have to see how totally ridiculous that is—" I turn and try to break through his arm which is still bracing me inside the train—but he refuses to move. And with him being like ten times stronger than me, I don't even waste my time trying to elbow my way outside.

"It's not ridiculous—you don't understand."

I pull my gaze off the craggy, split opening of the canyon which Tino has almost entirely vanished through, turning back to face Joe. "What do I not understand? Maybe I'd understand if you'd just explain yourself—why are you trying to stop me from going to check out the canyon?"

No response from Joe. He just looks at me and holds his arm in the door, unable to speak at all, it seems. I can't believe he is doing this to me.

"Look, I know that Tino isn't our favourite company, but we're just going to have to suck it up and deal for the time being." I insist, straightening up slightly. "There's no getting rid of him, now."

"I know that, but—"

"But what?" my voice comes out sounding so ticked, even though I don't intend for it to be that way.

Joe shakes his head slowly, still not opening up any space between us, and possibly even leaning in slightly closer to me—which makes my heart rate quicken for reasons I can't really place. "I can't let you do this."

I let out a horribly sarcastic laugh at this. "Can't let me? You can't _stop_ me, Joe—"

"You don't understand!"

"Would you stop saying that?" I don't fully realize how loud my voice has become until the words are already out on my lips. "I understand this completely."

"No, you don't. I'm the only one who understands." Joe nails his gaze back into mine, more intensity in his eyes than I've ever seen. "Can't you just trust me?"

"No I can't trust you. Not with this." the weight of my words don't fully hit me until I see the look of something between shock and hurt lapse in his blue eyes.

At this point, Joe drops his arm from blocking the doorway, pulling back a few inches. "Okay, Nancy." he shrugs slightly, diverting his gaze away from mine. "Whatever you say."

I can almost feel an unseen steel wall being driven between us—and the feeling scares me. Left completely void of something else to say to him, I turn and step down onto the sandy earth, willing myself to cross the gap and get into the canyon. Willing myself to ignore what just happened between us and focus on the mystery and what I'm here to accomplish.

Joe shuts the door of the train car and follows me through the jagged opening of the canyon, keeping his pace close behind mine.

 _Focus, Nancy._

 _FlightFeathers:_ _Hahah right you are about my sinister writerly mind! I just can't pass up a chance to destroy my readers' feels and completely torture my poor characters. XD Ohh, don't worry there shall be a time and place for all secrets to be revealed! Nancy and Joe also_ do _stargaze at some point, so that's something to look forward to. UGH I CAN'T SLEEP WHEN IT'S TOO QUIET EITHER. I love me some white noise. Haha. OMG I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKE LONG CHAPTERS! Because there are quite a few still to come…ahem. :) Thank you for reading and reviewing, as always! It always makes my day when I see your comments pop up in my inbox. :D_


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-six: Going down (Joe Hardy)**

"Obvious. So, so obvious." those are the first words out of Tino's mouth when Nancy and I catch up to where he has wandered into the canyon.

He's standing back staring analytically at what looks like a gaping hole in one of the canyon walls, almost completely covered up by boulders. Some of which have already fallen down to the ground, opening up a good-sized crevasse towards the top right side of the mound.

"What's obvious about that?" Nancy shrugs one shoulder, looking up at the rockslide waiting to happen.

"What's obvious about it?" Tino almost laughs at this. "It's clearly an opening of some kind—which someone has apparently tried to cover up, a long time ago."

Nancy takes a breath, looking totally annoyed at this point. "So, that doesn't mean it's the entrance to the mine.."

"Well there's only one way to find that out, isn't there?" he starts off towards the opening, leaving us both to follow quickly but with some degree of caution—on my part, anyway. I don't know what Nancy's thinking as she climbs up this mound of boulders, following the guy when he finally reaches the narrow opening and jumps down into the darkness of the cave.

I drag a hand around inside my backpack to find my flashlight first, before slipping inside after Tino and Nancy. Mine is the first to light up the mouth of the cave that we find ourselves in—it's actually more like a tunnel, snaking downwards and forking about fifteen paces in. Smooth, blasted walls.

Nancy's flashlight clicks on. And then another, which must be Tino's—and for a second I'm surprised that the guy even thought far enough to bring something like that.

"It definitely looks like a mine in here…" Nancy murmurs, letting her fingers dust across the dew-laced rock.

"Yeah… definitely." I let the beam from my flashlight feel the rest of the tunnel over before taking a few steps towards the fork in the tunnels. "So should we split up? Somehow..?"

Tino nods quickly—like if I was asking him—and starts for the left tunnel. "Good idea, I'll take this side."

I roll my eyes, "Whatever," and turn to glance up at Nancy, who is watching everything quietly. "Want to see what's down this way?" nodding in the direction of the right tunnel.

She nods slowly—numbly. But follows anyway, wordlessly. Which is weird. Nancy never has nothing to say. Never ever. But I guess the awkward silence isn't here without a reason—I mean, our whole conversation on the train just now… there's no way for me to explain to her this feeling of dread making itself at home in the pit of my stomach. I know that Tino is setting us up here, so I have to be here for her. To help her. To get us both out of here.

"It's so… empty." Nancy's echoing voice tears me out of my thoughts. Her flashlight running across the dew-spattered wall.

I nod slowly, trying to bust out of my daze well enough to reply. "Yeah… there's like… nothing here. And if there ever was, it's gone now."

She nods slowly. "Looks like,"

We continue down the tunnel for a few more moments in total silence—save our own hollow, damp footsteps echoing against the weeping walls. Then a dull, bluish smudge of light comes into view—emanating from the end of the tunnel, which Nancy and I, after exchanging a cliché glance, both make a total mad dash for. I get to the end first, and stop as soon as I see what it comes to—but Nancy doesn't.

"Whoa, watch out—" I throw my arm in front of her, blocking the doorway and a potential disaster.

She falls back a step, throwing me a wide-eyed, panicked look. Then she looks down, taking in the deep, jagged, empty ravine slicing through the floor—which could've eaten one of us alive just now.

"Holy freaking yo." Nancy gasps, letting her light inject the darkened mouth of the ravine. "Thank you. That would've been… bad."

I nod. "Yeah." Glancing up and noticing how the pinholes and hairline cracks in the ceiling are letting a little bit of dawn squeeze in—hence the mellow light breaking up some of the darkness. "And if I was Frank, which I'm not—"

Nancy nods dryly. "Clearly."

"—I'd be analyzing how this ravine was probably carved out by some kind of water coming down through these walls."

"Yeah, you're right." Nancy reaches out to let her fingers run over the smooth surface of the wall, obviously polished from erosion. "This canyon is right at the base of a mountain range—when the ice and snow melts in the spring, I wouldn't doubt if it channels its way down right through this mine."

I nod, letting my gaze and the beam from my flashlight drift down to the ravine. "There has to be some kind of drainage somewhere—or else the water would just flood the mine."

"True…" Nancy bites her lip, turning to look at me again. "I have no idea what the climate has been like in the mountains this spring—it was snowing when we left Copper Gorge, but who knows how long that lasted…"

I shrug one shoulder. "Yeah I have no idea."

Nancy sighs, seeming to lose her thoughts about it. She diverts her gaze, letting out a sigh. "Man, how're we gonna get across this thing?" she flicks her light across the gap, which is easily seven feet wide—give or take a few inches.

I shake my head slowly, racking my brain but turning up totally empty. "…No idea."

"Did I see something like a board on our way in here?" She turns to me. "Yeah, they were all over the place—these thick planks—they were pretty long." she turns, giving my jacket sleeve a quick tug. "I saw one not too far back."

Not exactly sure what her plan is here, I follow her back through the tunnel about fifteen paces or so. Until she stops beside a long, damp plank leaning against the wall.

"Here, help me carry this."

We each take an end and the beam from Nancy's flashlight guides us back over to the ravine. We stop, and I let my flashlight drop to the ground, rolling on the uneven floor and pointing a beam of light at nothing in particular.

"Now, my idea is to bridge the gap with this board, then just walk across it." Nancy turns to look at me. "Is that too insane?"

I shake my head slowly, "Nothing is too insane for me."

She relents to a little smile, "Good,"

And wordlessly, I get down on my knees and help her push the board, which is surprisingly heavy, across the gaping crevasse, until it meets the ledge on the other side. Testing it with one foot to get an idea of its stability.

"Safe, you think?" Nancy asks me, and I nod quickly.

"Probably, but maybe I should go across first, just to make sure…?"

She shakes her head and gently nudges me out of the way. "I don't think so—"

"Stubborn."

A laugh this time. A real one. "You're one to talk,"

I am. But whatever. I take this opportunity to roll my eyes—just because she can't see.

Thankfully Nancy makes it across quickly and without a hitch. I follow as soon as her feet hit the ground on the other side, and within a few minutes, we're both across.

The tunnel before us feels somehow darker and colder than the first, and I feel like we must be getting deeper underground somehow, even though I haven't really noticed the elevation change at all. But then, it's really hard to orient yourself underground. Like you can be absolutely sure that you're going up, when in reality you're going down. Really trippy stuff.

"Did you feel that?" Nancy asks me after a moment, slowing her pace a little.

I raise an eyebrow. "Feel what?"

"The air changed—it's cooler. Damper."

"Yeah, I was just noticing that, actually." I turn to face her. "It almost feels like this tunnel is heading downwards,"

Nancy nods. A silence—filled only by our footsteps and the faint sound of the walls weeping. Then Nancy quickens her pace. "There's something up ahead—what is that?"

I have no idea. Even when we reach the end of the tunnel, which lets out into a small room, half-eaten by what looks a lot like a mine shaft—openings blasted into the floor and ceiling, and ropes suspended through the middle.

Nancy steps closer to the shaft, pointing her flashlight up through the opening in the ceiling. "It looks like some kind of… elevator mechanism."

"That makes sense."

She nods, examining the thick, apparently very old ropes.

"Is someone down there?" a familiar voice and another beams of light falls down through the elevator shaft to us.

Is someone down here? That's a freaking weird way to say it.

"Tino?" Nancy calls back up to him. "Are you on the top level?"

"Yes, I'm on the top level," his beam of light flicks away, leaving the shaft only dully lit by the faded dawn coming in through the ceiling. "How did you guys get down there?"

Nancy glances around. "Um, it looks like the tunnel that we came down descends farther into the mine. What is this, an elevator?"

"Uh… yeah it looks like an elevator. Likely used back when this mine was in working order." Tino shouts down to us, his voice echoing around in the shaft. "And speaking of which, I found something on my way here that I think you'll find highly interesting."

Nancy's eyebrows raise at this—surprised, but excited. I can tell. "Really?"

"Of course really." his voice comes slightly drowned out by the sound of pullies and levers being released. "Now I'm sending the elevator down to you guys—so you can come back up and check it out, okay?"

No. No no no no no. Not happening.

She nods quickly, taking a step back from the mine shaft. "Sounds good." And a few seconds later, a clicking, grinding noise fills the silence and the old mine elevator, which is pretty much just a glorified cage made of scary-ancient (and probably rotting) boards nailed together, lowers itself down to our level and stops completely.

I take Nancy by the arm, pulling her aside and lowering my voice to just above a whisper. "Are you freaking nuts? We can't get into that thing."

She doesn't even look confused at this point—more like annoyed. "And why not."

"Because—did you even look at the thing? It's like hundreds of years old, for crying out loud. This is insane,"

Nancy gives me a look. "I thought nothing was too insane for you."

…Why does she have to do that?

I divert the topic right away. "Okay, so you're telling me that you actually trust Tino to operate this elevator for us—"

"Do we have a choice, Joe?"

I open my mouth to offer something, but the words escape me. And Nancy just gives me that look.

"Well we could go back to the mine entrance and follow the left tunnel, which obviously leads to the top level—"

"That's going to take forever." Nancy pulls away, making a move to get into the elevator. "Now would you stop? You're being ridiculous."

"No—" I grab her hand again, pulling her to a stop. " _You're_ being ridiculous."

"Excuse me?" she rips out of my grasp.

"Hey are you kids coming up, or not?" Tino's voice interrupts, sounding sufficiently agitated.

I let out an annoyed sigh through my nose, turning back to her. "Look, Nancy—I just don't think it's safe. The elevator, I mean. It's so decrepit—it probably can't even hold people anymore."

She looks at me for a long moment, pursing her lips. "Okay, fine. Then maybe we should just go one at a time."

I nod slowly, unable to reject this idea—I mean, it does make sense. But a sick feeling injects my stomach as I start to realize what this implies.

Nancy just stares at me for a few long seconds, before breaking the silence. "I'll go first,"

"No!" I jump forward to block the entrance to elevator—stopping her from getting in before me. "Don't. I'll go first."

This? Is the last straw. I can tell right away by the way Nancy's expression snaps from shock to total frustration like that.

"Would you cut it out?" she yells, completely ticked at this point. "I don't know why you're always trying so hard to protect me from everything, but you should know that I manage fine on my own without _you_ around."

With her words, I feel something inside me being stabbed—but I have to ignore it. I think Nancy is just as stunned by her words. She pulls back a few inches, a look of regret washing into her eyes. But she keeps her gaze fixed on mine.

"Now get out of my way, Joe."

"Fine." I let the word out with an irritated breath, moving aside to let Nancy into the elevator.

She brushes past me, wordlessly, stepping inside the cage and turning to shout up to Tino, "I'm ready!"

For a split second I stand here, starting to really feel the pressure coming down on me all at once. The ropes start to shift, groaning slightly.

 _What the heck am I doing? I can't watch this happen. I can't let this happen._

So I don't hesitate for another second—I jump up into the elevator after her just in time as it starts to move.

Nancy's eyes fling open wider, and she almost considers throwing me out—I can tell. "Joe, what are you doing? I thought you said—"

"I don't care what I said—" and my voice dies in my throat—because that's when I realize that we're not going up. We're going down. In more ways than one, if you can possibly stomach a pun at this moment.

"What the heck…" Nancy flips around, yelling up to Tino, "Hello? Tino?"

No response. Typical.

And that's when the elevator stops. Between floors. With a strained groaning sound. _Oh my God._ I would totally bash my head into the wall right now if I wasn't scared sick.

"Tino?" I finally call up, finding my voice, "Don't do this! You can't do this!"

Nancy whips her head around to face me. Eyes wide open. Panic. "What are you saying? Joe?!"

I don't reply. No one does. Dead silence. Groaning, tensed ropes. Straining, aching.

"Joe—"

"Shh!" I hold up one hand, silencing her desperate voice.

Quiet. Creaking. Then sawing. A faint, barely audible sound, but telltale—ropes being quickly chewed at by a blade. The sound that makes my heart stop dead and drop to my converse.

"Stop!" I jump to the other side of the elevator, latching my fingers around the damp wood. "Don't do this, Tino! …STOP!"

The sawing noise is instantly killed. One last strained groan from the pullies. A split second pause. Then the telltale whirring, whiplashing sound of the ropes. And then? We start to fall.

Nancy screams. I react instantly, dropping my flashlight and slamming shut the space between us—I wrap my arms around Nancy and pull her off her feet, reaching my free hand up to shield her head from the blow. All that happens in a split second.

I brace myself into the corner of the elevator, holding onto her tight—then we hit the ground. And all I hear is a deafening crash. Then everything goes black.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _GAH I KNOW RIGHT? These two are really quite frustrating. XD They'll make it up soon, though – not to worry. ;D haha. Oh yes, I have to let Nancy think of childish things at one time or another. Haha! She can get so serious, jeez… it WOULD have been funny if Tino burnt his hand. XD Ugh I really don't like him, either…especially after this chapter. Which I'm so excited to see what you think of! Thank you for reviewing as always! :)_


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-seven: Left (Nancy Drew)**

My eyes open a few seconds after we hit the ground.

I find myself wrapped in Joe's arms, breathing hard—unable to move at all for what feels like long time. Having no idea what just happened.

The impact from the fall starts to pound through my body—one horrible ache coming all at once. After a few stunned moments, I manage to roll over onto my back, wincing from the pain.

I scan the ceiling of what looks like a cavity in the very bottom of the mine—a shallow, hollow room with weeping walls and a dull bluish stream of light probing down through the mine shaft, barely illuminating the cave. I pull myself upright, an ounce of reality coming back to me.

"Joe.." I twist around, grabbing his arm and shaking him slightly. ".Joe? Joe! Can you hear me?" my heart starts sinking into my gut, and I let my hand run down to his wrist to feel his pulse—which is there. Barely. But still there. And that's when everything else comes flooding back to me.

"Tino!" I jump to my feet, running a few paces to where the empty, gaping elevator shaft is blasted through the ceiling, looking up to the other three levels of the mine. "Tino come back! You can't leave us here! Tino! Please!" by this point, I'm screaming—the hoarse desperation getting out with my voice. "You can't leave us here!"

The silence bites back at me. Dead, deafening silence.

"Please!" my voice shatters, ripping up my heart. I land my fists into the cold damp wall, so ready to explode with anger and tears. This can't be happening. It isn't happening.

I turn away from the wall, getting back over to Joe, who is still completely out of it. He must've taken that fall so hard.

I'm starting to remember how it happened—I remember feeling the elevator starting to fall, then a scream escaping me. Then he picked me up, shielding my head from the impact. I know why—if you take that hard of a fall standing up, chances are the force alone will break your legs.

So I fall down to my knees beside him, breathing in broken sobs and taking his cold hand in mine. "Oh my God, Joe. Please wake up—please," my voice melts in my throat, and I find that I can't get the words out without tears. "Oh God I need help. Somehow. There has to be someone…"

Feverishly, I pull my iPhone out of my jeans pocket. No service. No. No way. This isn't happening. _This can't be happening._

"Come on, please! God, help me.." I let my phone slip out of my hands and to the ground, my voice breaking up into sobs. "Please…!"

A long silence bleeds through the cave, the only sound to break it being my fevered heartbeat and Joe's shallow, unconscious breathing.

"..God, Joe. I'm so sorry. I was so wrong." I drag in a shaky breath, pulling my fingers through his and letting my forehead fall softly against them. A tear escaping my eye and falling into his hand. "…I'm so sorry."

* * *

"Nancy..?" a soft, familiar voice is the first thing to break the thick, empty silence clouding inside my head.

"Joe.." I feel his name on my lips first. Then I feel my heart start to beat again. Then I feel his warm hand slip out of mine and gently close around my shoulder. With my free hand I reach up and brush the tears away from my eyes.

"Nancy? Are you alright?"

I lift my eyes up to meet his blue ones. I bring myself to nod slowly. "….yes."

"Did you black out?"

I shake my head slowly. "I don't think so."

He lets out what sounds a lot like a sigh of relief. "Thank God,"

"But what about you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah I'm whatever—I feel like I've just been run over by a few busses." he refocuses, turning to face me. "But I'm fine."

I nod slowly, just sitting on the damp floor for a few more seconds, trying to take his word for it. Joe takes a breath, getting to his feet. I can't help but notice how he winces slightly—trying not to show it, I can tell.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

He nods quickly, "Yeah I'm fine, Nance—I think I probably sprained my ankle or something. No big."

"No big?" I echo, eyebrows raising. "What about your head."

Joe shrugs, taking a few steps across the floor of the cave, stopping directly underneath the opening of the mine shaft in the ceiling. "My head? It feels like.. total crap. How long was I out for?"

I shake my head slowly. "I have no idea. Probably like ten minutes. Maybe twenty. Maybe thirty." I let my eyes fall shut, dragging a breath down into my cold lungs. "I couldn't say."

He doesn't reply for a few moments—leaving the silence to eat away at us. Staring up into the mine shaft, his gaze hollow—unaffected. Then he finally lets out a soft-spoken sentence, "….He left. Didn't he?"

I swallow hard, nodding slowly. "….Yes."

"God.." he exhales the word, barely above a whisper. And that's the last that either of us say for two or three minutes.

Finally I find my voice again. "…This whole thing was a set up. I can't believe I was too stupid to notice how everything was going down. How every step was just another nudge in the wrong direction." I pull in another shaky breath, trying not to cry again. "…I'm so sorry, Joe. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry I didn't—.." I stop there, my voice getting arrested in my throat.

But Joe knows my thoughts before I put them into words. He finishes my sentence for me, his voice soft and echoing around slightly in the mine shaft. "…you didn't..trust me."

I swallow the ache in my chest, forcing a nod. "…Please don't be angry with me, Joe."

"I'm not." he sighs the words, still not looking at me. "I was never angry with you, Nancy. I could never be angry with you."

I shake my head slowly, my eyes starting to burn slightly. "But how? I was so wrong, and you were right this whole time. I should've listened to you when you said we shouldn't have come here—and instead I was a total jerk. How could…. how could you possibly _not_ be angry with me?"

Joe doesn't say anything for what feels to me like a long time. When his numbly-spoken words finally come, I'm not sure if it's even a legit reply. And it throws me too far off guard to even remember what I was saying before.

"….He was going to kill you. That's why I didn't say anything."

"…What?"

Joe sighs, dropping his head slightly and finally turning to face me. "Remember that night when I said that I fell out on the platform? And you found that note I left for Frank, telling him not to come after me?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well I didn't fall."

"But why were you so bruised, then?"

He looks down, pausing for a few seconds. "I left that note for Frank because I was going to confront Tino alone. And I didn't want him to follow me."

"But that's not what you said—"

"I lied,"

I don't feel at all surprised by this—because I was expecting it. I knew he was holding something back. "…Why?"

"Because the whole thing didn't go as I'd planned."

I bite my lip, feeling almost kind of hesitant to let the words out. "…How do you mean?"

Joe doesn't reply to this at first. He takes a few obviously-painful steps and sits down on the ground beside me. Letting a few noiseless seconds pass between us before speaking again.

"First I showed Tino those forged notes that we found—he was obviously guilty, but he told me that if I really wanted to talk, we would go out onto the platform. Of course, I was dumb enough to follow him and.. the whole thing just broke into a fight before I knew it. He said that I knew too much about what he was doing, and I knew right then that he was going to do everything he could to get rid of me. So he actually tried to kill me by throwing me off the train—thankfully I caught myself and managed to get back to the platform. And to be honest I can't remember most of what happened after that—until you found us out on the platform." Joe pauses to take a breath and glance up at me for the first time since he started talking. "You pretty much walked in on a totally ugly fight, and Tino wasn't about to hand himself over."

"Why didn't you just tell me right there what was going on? We could've cornered him between the two of us and it would've been over—"

"No we couldn't have, Nancy." Joe locks his gaze on mine. Intensity mixing with the honesty in his eyes. "I'd just seen what he was capable of, and if another fight had gone down out there with you involved, too?" he shakes his head slowly. "That would've been the end of us. I swear. That's why I didn't say anything about it in front Tino. That's why I sent you away to the dining car—I was planning on meeting you there and telling you everything so we could figure out a way to catch him."

"But why didn't you just come with me?"

"Because I.. didn't—" Joe seems to struggle with the words for a second, "I didn't think that far. My first reaction was to just get you out of there." his eyes fall from mine, to the dampness under our feet. And for a few seconds, I fear that he won't continue.

"As soon as you left the car, he cornered me before I could get away and threatened me to not breathe a word to anyone about what just happened—and all this crap about him that he obviously didn't want to get out."

"Threatened you?" I hear myself scoff at this. "How lame. Why didn't you just ignore him? Villains never mean what they say."

"He meant it, Nancy." Joe turns to look into my eyes again. Blue. "He told me that if I said anything about him.. that he would make sure you died."

A few seconds of silence cut in here—and they feel like balls of lead dropping into my heart. I can't really decipher why or how. But the rest of the story starts piecing itself together in my head, and a broken kind of heartache finds its way down inside me. I can barely stand to hear him continue—because I already know how it's all going to end. I can barely stand to sit here and let my gaze lock on his—suddenly realizing all the thoughts and feelings that have been consuming him this whole time.

I somehow manage to let my eyes slip closed for a moment, and let out a soft exhale, "Go on,"

It takes him a few seconds to divert his gaze and pick up the conversation again, "...So that's why I didn't say anything. I had no way to get out of blackmail like that."

"Why didn't you tell him about ATAC? They could've helped you."

Joe lets out something like a dry, sarcastic laugh. Barely. "I did, actually. But ATAC can't help me—because I forgot to send in these demented forms to renew my Private Investigator ID. I'm not technically "part" of that association at the moment." he sighs, frustrated.

I try to take it all in, overwhelmed to a degree. "…Yeah, Frank said something about those forms."

"Tino broke into my room at one point and cloned my phone so he could see exactly who I text, who I talk to, what we talk about. I knew that if I said anything about what happened, he would know. And you would have to pay for it. And I would rather die than—" Joe stops abruptly in mid-sentence, almost intentionally. "…I didn't want you to get hurt, Nance. So I just didn't say anything. I'd hoped that you and Frank would've figured it all out on your own, but we ran out of time. Obviously."

I can't take it all in—not all at once. Rethinking every step, every moment, every heartbeat—seeing it all through this lens of what he was going through—it changes everything. God, I was so blind.

Joe continues, "By the time we got here to Brimstone, I had a feeling that something was about to go down. Tino had threatened me right before because he thought that I had spilled something to you about how he switched the maps—even though I didn't breathe a word—and he said that if I screwed things up one more time, then we'd both pay for it." he lets out a drained sigh, dragging a hand through his messy blonde hair. Scanning the ceiling of this damp, dark cave-like dead end that we're stuck in. "I guess this was his idea of us paying for it."

At this point, I'm virtually speechless. All the ready waiting words that ever existed in my head somehow siphoned out of me.

"…God, I knew we shouldn't have come here." Joe says this more to himself than to me—his words coming out just above a regretting whisper. "I knew as soon as he showed up this morning that this whole thing was going down." he pauses to drag in a somewhat-uneasy breath. "I just didn't know that it would leave us here. Like this."

After a few presumed-dead seconds of total silence, I find my voice's hiding place and get the words out. "…That's why you tried to stop me from leaving the train this morning—because you saw that this whole thing was a set-up."

Joe nods slowly, still not looking up at me.

"….And that's why you tried to stop me from getting into the elevator."

Another nod.

And that's when the overwhelming, melting ache starts to really drive itself down inside me—as I realize everything that Joe did this whole time? It was for me. And during it all, I was a completely heartless, pushy, mindless idiot to him.

All this time, I was sure that he was deceiving me about something—holding back some truth that I should've known. All this time that I was convinced he was betraying me, he was actually showing the most loyalty and care that a friend could possibly know how to show.

All this time, I was sure that we were being pushed further and further apart by this unseen wall of deceit and rejection—but really, all this time? We were being pulled closer and closer together.

That's all that I can take of this reality for the time being—that's all that my heart can take without totally overwhelming me to the point of crying. I'm not going to lie—it takes a lot to keep the tears inside.

I'd like to think that I want to cry because of what a total jerk I was to Joe—but I know somewhere deep down inside, that isn't the reason. My head won't allow me to understand the reason, yet. It's all like a blur.

I pull in a deep breath, bringing my gaze back to his head of messy ash-blonde hair, hung in his hands beside me. "…I'm glad you told me, Joe." my voice comes out so soft-spoken, I almost don't immediately recognize it as my own. "I'm… so sorry… I didn't listen before."

"…It's fine." he snaps out of his numb daze, not looking at me—but standing up instead. "It doesn't matter anymore." he leaves my side, crossing the room and stopping underneath the opening to the mine shaft again. Staring up into it again. "…Because we're stuck here."

"Well there's got to be a way out," I push myself off the wet ground, getting to my feet. Everything feeling sore all of a sudden. "If there's a way in, there's always a way out."

Joe nods slowly. "Well as far as I'm seeing right now, this—" motioning one hand towards the gaping blast in the ceiling. "—is the only way out."

I stop beside him, letting my gaze skim over the smooth, damp walls which are carved straight up three levels, then stop abruptly at the top of the mine, where the ceiling breaks open to a pale blue sky.

This cave room is shallow—but still, the ceiling is much too high to get a handle on climbing up—and the lowest level is at least twenty feet up. Totally unreachable.

One look at it and I feel my heart sink down to my boots.

"…Unbelievable." the word escapes me in a pessimistic sigh. But after a few seconds, I turn to Joe. "They'll send a search party for us, though. Once Tino gets back to the train—everyone else will wonder what the heck happened to us and they'll have to come looking."

Joe shakes his head slowly, "I don't think so."

"What do you mean?"

"Well if this is Tino's way of getting rid of us, he wouldn't let anybody come looking."

I feel myself swallow a lead weight along with his words. "….What do you think he would tell them?"

Joe shrugs one shoulder, finally letting his gaze drop from the mine shaft, back to me. "I don't know—but he'll somehow convince everyone to stay out of the mine. He's a cop. They'd all believe him."

I let this whole idea sink in for a few moments, realizing the implications. "….So you're saying that they might just… leave. And not come back for us."

Joe takes a breath, turning his gaze away from mine. "All I know for sure, is that we're on our own. So if we want to get out of here? It's going to be up to us to figure that out."

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _Oooh yes. Tino may have a big head, but he secretly has some brains in there too XD Aw, yeah – Joe should have said something. But now he can feel FILLED WITH REGRET MUAHAHHA. (I'm such an evil writer, I know… It keeps me young.) Hmmm I think your questions will be answered in the end! :D GAJHHHASDFGH I'M SO HAPPY YOU THINK THIS IS REALISTIC FEELING! That means SO SO much to me, really. 3 Thank you for reading! Sorry this chapter took a little longer to get up! :D_


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-eight: Door-crush the clock breaker. (Frank Hardy)**

Morning comes eventually. With a neck ache and the smell of strong coffee. Lillan, the waitress, has to come and kick me in the ribs to wake me up out of the thick-headed coma that I've fallen into overnight. Proceeding to kicking me out of the diner unless of course I'm going to buy coffee. I tell her that it's too early for coffee. And she rolls her eyes and asks me how on earth it could ever be too early for coffee? I don't reply—I just obey her barking orders and leave.

Six thirty is a foggy, pre-dawn hour that leaves the sleepy snow-shrouded town of Copper Gorge somehow colder than ever. There's just enough light leaking out into the sky to show up the swooping tire tracks that have already eaten through the dense layer of snow. Wow there actually is more than two people up here. Fascinating.

It's still totally dark inside Buell's, but the second floor windows are lit—slipping out cracks of fuzzy yellow. So I approach the front door and start banging on it. This is totally forward. Especially considering how yesterday Fatima chewed me out about the dumb phone wires being torn apart—even though it wasn't my fault. I swallowed my pride and apologized anyway, but she was still pretty ticked at me. So I pretty much got myself scratched off her friends list for good.

I figure it will take about three and a half minutes for Fatima to actually hear my knocking, stop whatever it is she's doing up there, come downstairs, unlock the door and find me here. And I'm right. Three and a half minutes. Almost exactly. It's hard to not count the seconds when you're freezing in the predawn cold.

The door is thrown open, and a still kind of fatigued looking Fatima stands there and stares at me with a shocked look—either from the blast of sudden thirty below cold or the fact that I'm banging on her door at 6:30 in the morning.

She rolls her eyes, pulling her oversized Colorado Buffaloes sweater closer around her arms. "Now whadda you want this early in the morning, Mister Frank Hardy?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, Fatima," I cough into my fist, trying to speak normally while freezing out here. "Can I come in for a minute? Please?"

"NO, as a matter'a fact you can't—" she starts to shut the door on me, "I ain't open yet—"

I shove my foot in the door and stop it at three inches cracked open. "Fatima, please—"

She scoffs in complete disgust/shock. "Get out!" Slamming the door harder and succeeding in nothing but almost breaking my foot.

"Ow, ow, no stop it!" I shove my elbow into the door crack and manage to inch it open farther. "I need you to let me in for just a minute—please. I need your help with something."

Fatima stops pushing me out for a few seconds, glaring at me. "I could have you arrested for this,"

I almost laugh. But don't. "Yes well how would the cops get here? We're totally snowed in."

"Is that some kind of a threat?"

"No, I was just pointing out that—"

Fatima cuts me off with something like a laugh. "As a matter'a fact, the sheriff lives right down there," she nods in the direction of an icy, fogged in valley past the train station. "Snow makes everything real quiet see, so f'I screamed loud'nuff, he could p'rolly hear me."

"Look, Fatima, there's no reason to scream for the Sheriff! I just want to come in for two seconds to get you to help me with something—it's very awkward trying to carry on a conversation while being squished in a doorway like this. Plus I'm freezing to death."

A long few seconds.

"Aow, alright—get inside and get yerself warm." she finally relents, with an aggravated groan/sigh, letting the door fling open the whole way, and simultaneously throwing me inside the unlit store. She flicks on the lights, kicking the door shut.

I shake off the numbness of the cold and pull my phone out of my pocket, distractedly turning to face Fatima, who is now leaning back against the counter, giving me a suspicious, reading sort of glance. Obviously waiting for the punch line.

I clear my throat. "Uh, do you have a radio? An electric radio….? By any chance,"

She raises an eyebrow, probably wondering if she heard right. "….An electric radio. No. I don't."

"Shoot," I bite my lip, deciding not to get off talking about how everyone should own an electric radio—preferably a radio with battery power backup. For emergencies, obviously. It's smart. "Um, okay, well… what about an alarm clock? A digital alarm clock?"

Fatima sighs and rolls her green eyes. "You ask for the stinkin' weirdest things, you know that? First it's a cell phone, then an electric radio, and now a digital alarm clock? What is your fascination with electronics?"

I drop my shoulders, really not wanting to get off topic here. "Look, I don't have a fascination with electronics—I just really need a digital alarm clock for a very particular reason right now. It's important."

She looks at me for a few seconds, pursing her lips in a discontented sort of way. Like if she's trying to decide if she should believe me or not. "Hm."

Then she turns and winds her way around the front counter, disappearing through a doorway and up a flight of stairs behind it—leaving me standing here in the middle of the store wondering if she's actually going to get an alarm clock or not.

Fatima returns a few moments later—with the alarm clock. Which I take with an appreciative thank you and plug into the nearest wall socket, taking a seat on the wood floor and pulling my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket.

This is really only a procedure to do in total emergencies—it's messy, and frankly, doesn't really work that well. A hit or miss kind of deal. But this time I have to hit—because if my suspicions are right, this is the only alarm clock that I'm going to be seeing for a while.

I start by prying off the backing to my cell phone, removing the battery and popping off its outer shell. The wires are incredibly small and hard to work with, but it's not like I have any choice.

Fatima, who has been sitting on the counter this whole time looking down at me with total confusion, finally speaks up. "What in heck are you doing?"

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing," I mumble back, trying to concentrate.

"That wasn't what I asked…" I can see her rolling her eyes out of my peripheral.

I finish prying off the back compartment of the alarm clock to get to the guts of the machine. Locating the right wires, I carefully cut them away from the connection, immediately killing the lighted screen.

"You just broke it," she accuses, crossing her arms.

"No, I'm just… repurposing it." I throw her a look. "Look, I'll replace it, okay Fatima?"

"You can't replace it—my brother in law made me that clock."

"…Are you serious?"

Fatima nods quickly. "Heck yes."

"I'll fix it then." turning back to the wires in my hand.

She just rolls her eyes at this and I get back to work.

Now that both wires are disconnected, all I need to do is reconnect them to channel the electric power into my battery. It only takes a minute or so to lift the short wires out of the battery, and twist them to connect with the wires sticking out of the open guts of the alarm clock—to pop it back into my phone and replace the casing.

I cross my fingers and power on the phone.

CHARGING.

"Yes," I sigh the word with total relief.

A functional cell phone is the first step to getting out of this place. The next step is to find cell service. And that's going to be the real challenge.

* * *

I'm almost at the end of my rope. Seriously.

After charging up my cell phone and piecing Fatima's busted alarm clock back together, I was kicked out the front door and left to waste the rest of the day (yes, the entire day, save the ten minutes I spent with a cup of coffee) wandering around this borderline ghost town, plodding through three feet of snow and trying to find the slightest breath of cell service.

I think it's pretty obvious that I found none. But I haven't looked absolutely everywhere—so I'm not about to give up.

I've already convinced myself to stop waiting for the train to show up—if Nancy and Joe were able to get the engineer to turn around and come back for me, they would have been here by now. Chances are, they're still on course for Brimstone Canyon, and they'll stop to pick me up on the way back to Denver.

Figuring that it takes about six hours to get from here to Brimstone Canyon, then figuring that they'll spend at least a full day exploring, then taking another six hours to come back to Copper Gorge… I'm looking at probably another two days being stuck here.

Nancy and Joe will be exploring Brimstone and I'll have absolutely no clue what they find until I see them again. Man, what the heck am I going to do with myself?

It gets dark early here—around six-ish. When darkness comes, the mercury dives way down below the 32 degree line on the thermometer nailed crookedly to the wall outside the door of the Copper Fork. There is no way I'm spending another night suffering out here like a homeless kid until my battery dies and I have to go rip apart another digital electronic that doesn't belong to me.

So as soon as dusk finishes suffocating the sky, I wander inside the diner casually, which is warm and bright and extremely quiet—almost all the tables empty. My gaze goes right to the counter, where the familiar waitress is clearing a tray of empty glasses.

Okay, this is my only chance. Don't sweat it—this will go fine. I pull in a shallow breath, weaving my way through the tables and finally taking a seat on one of the stools at the counter.

"Still here, City Boy?" Lillan glances up after a few seconds, raising one blonde eyebrow. "I thought for sure you would've got yourself outta here by now."

I shrug one shoulder slightly, breathing into my icy hands. "Well there's still a lot of snow out there."

She laughs, wiping down the other end of the granite counter. "You're so funny—can't get over the snow, huh?"

"It's kind of.. in the way, you know? I mean, it stopped snowing this morning, but everything is still covered."

Lillan nods slowly, starting to look at me like I'm some kind of a freak. "That's… usually the way it goes. Spring's being kind of bi-polar this year."

"But shouldn't the roads be plowed, at least?" I ask, tearing a hand through my hair.

The waitress laughs again at this—taking a step to the side to lean against the counter on her elbows and look at me. "Look Boy, I still don't know where you come from, but up here? The closest thing you're gonna see to a plow is a pickup with four wheel drive." she smiles a little, shaking her head slowly. "No, we're still living in the dark ages—we use these things called shovels."

 _Is this sarcasm? Because it's not helping._ I drop my shoulders slightly, giving her a look.

Lillan straightens up. "Cars've been in and out of here all day long—if you really wanted to escape that badly, you could've hitch-hiked your way down the mountain and got yourself on a plane to Miami or wherever it is you come from."

"I can't just do that—I was part of that group on the train that passed through here yesterday. They left me here by accident."

Lillan raises her eyebrows, going back to clearing. "How thoughtful of them."

"The point is I can't just leave. They'll be coming back for me." I lean against the counter on my elbows. "Until then, I'm going to have to stay here and wait."

She nods slowly, then shrugs a little, "Okay," probably wondering why I ever started talking to her in the first place. "….Can I get you something?"

"Something?" I lift my gaze back up to her's. "Uh, no… thank you."

Lillan gives me something of a look—the kind that says "why are you not leaving?" but she doesn't say anything to me out loud. She just turns and carries the tray of empty glasses back through the swinging door into the kitchen.

I sit here at the counter for a few moments, trying to sort out how this whole conversation just totally flopped. My original intent was to ask her if she could somehow let me spend the night here again, and if not, was there some other place that I could stay. But obviously none of that actually came out as I'd planned. ….Obviously.

Okay. I've got to stop talking to myself and start seriously thinking about what the heck I'm doing here. What is my plan, anyway?

Gaze trailing with my half-aware daze, I finally catch a glimpse of someone through the window of the swinging back room door. It's Lillan—she's standing with a tray tucked under one arm and her back to me, looking down at something in her hand, which I realize all at once after a total duh moment is none other than a smart phone.

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

If there has been service in this diner this whole entire time, I'm going to do something bad with my head.

To kill the question mark, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, which has already gone down to 36%.

Searching for service….

What? That makes no sense. How can Lillan be standing fifteen feet away from me using her phone, and yet mine isn't working? In most cases, the difference of fifteen feet doesn't matter, but knowing how stupidly precise some incredibly weak signals can be? I wouldn't doubt if it actually did matter.

Just to be sure, I pull up the Wi-Fi connect screen on my phone, doing a search for networks. And to my total surprise? There is one available network—copperfork. Man, Wi-Fi is such a beautiful thing. What isn't a beautiful thing though, is password protect. Dang it.

That must be why the guy from the cemetery told me that there is no Wi-Fi here. I take it that this isn't for the public to use. It's useless to guess something like a Wi-Fi password, but I try a few stupidly simple ones just for the heck of it.

 _ **copper_fork**_

 **Incorrect Password**

 _ **copperfork**_

 **Incorrect Password**

 _ **lillan_copperfork**_

 **Incorrect Password**

 _ **coppergorgecopperfork**_

 **Incorrect Password**

Okay, this is ridiculous. I'm not going to do this.

Leaving my phone face-up on the counter, I wait here for a few more seconds until Lillan pushes through the swinging door again, her gaze meeting mine in kind of an annoyed way.

"Sorry bro—you waiting for something?" she shoots me a look of total severity.

"I'm waiting to talk to you."

For a split second, Lillan looks sort of taken aback by this, then glances around at the nearly-vacant diner as if deciding if she can spare the five or ten minutes that this conversation might take. "Okay, make it quick."

"Look, I.. sort of need a place to stay. For tonight. And every night until the train comes back for me, which could take up to two days." I get all this out really fast so she doesn't have time to fully understand what I'm saying or roll her eyes or walk away. "So if you could just possibly point me in the direction of some place—any place, I don't really care anymore—"

"There is no place to stay."

"…What? How is that possible?"

Lillan shrugs. "This is a small town. People live here. We don't have like… motels, or anything like that."

"Okay…" I trace my fingertips along my phone which is still lying on the counter. "and I guess there's no possibility in you letting me spend another night here..?"

The waitress doesn't say anything at first—she just looks at me for a long moment. "…I never used to let random lost boys make themselves at home in this diner like if it's a freaking boarding house. I used to have standards. So I really shouldn't let you.." she sighs. "But fine. If you want to sleep on the floor in here until your train comes back for you? Go ahead. But I'll have you know that you'll find my prices pretty darn steep."

I slip on my most innocent hopeful face. "So.. twenty bucks won't cut it?"

Lillan shakes her head mercilessly. "'Fraid not."

"Well that's all I have,"

She pauses for a few moments, pondering my question and letting her gaze drift passed me. "My dishwasher is sick. She hasn't been in for work in three days and it doesn't look like she's planning on returning anytime soon, either." she directs her gaze back to mine.

"I'm confused."

"I'm offering you a temporary job." She shrugs one shoulder. "As.. y'know, your payment for staying here. But it's up to you."

"Does it include food of some kind? Because I'm starving."

She nods.

"Okay. I'd love to."

Lillan raises one blonde eyebrow slightly. "You'd love to wash dishes..? That's something I've never heard before."

"Well actually I hate washing dishes. But I'll literally do anything to have a place to stay."

She gives a slight affirmative nod. "Okay. Sweet. You'll start tomorrow morning in that case." And with that she turns and starts for the kitchen again.

"Wait, Lillan?"

The waitress pauses and quickly spins around on her heel to face me. "Hm?"

"I uh," I clear my throat, fingers running over my phone again. "I noticed that you have a Wi-Fi network here, but it's password—"

"That's because it's not for random people to use." Lillan cuts me off, getting a little irritated, I can tell. "Why does it feel like I have to tell somebody this every single day?"

"But I'm not just a "random person"… am I?"

She looks at me closely for a long few seconds before a little smirk breaks over her face. "You want that Wi-Fi really bad? You're going to have to figure out the password yourself."

Another lame attempt at melting her heart just a little—failed. Man, I am so bad at this. Then Lillan really does leave. Kicking open the swinging door and vanishing behind it before I can protest any further. Darn it.

How am I supposed to "just figure out the password myself"? I can't. It's impossible. There's always another way to find passwords.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _yaaaas the truth is out! Haha, Joe definitely did take his time and now they are in trouble…and Frank can't get to them! Oh, what a dangerous web. ;) Tino is SUCH a criminal omg. And Joe is such a precious angel. 3 I wish he was real, hahah! Thank you so much for reading!_


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-nine : Build a bomb workshop. (Joe Hardy)**

I can't ripping believe this. Can this actually be happening?

Night falls with cold. And it comes sooner than I expected, filling the cave with darkness before the sun even sets.

Honestly, I'm not sure how Nancy and I both got through the long, silent, cold span of daylight—it was complete torture. I know that she was expecting some kind of search party from the train to come and find us, stuck here. To "rescue" us. But I knew that no one would come. And that's not just me being pessimistic.

There's no way Tino is letting anyone off that train to come looking for us. He'll convince them that there isn't any reason to go into the canyon. His first priority will be to get that train out of Brimstone Canyon. And Nancy and I? We are so screwed.

My watch has died from either low battery or the cold or a combination of the two, so I have absolutely no idea what time it is when I wake up out of my half-conscious fatigue—which could never really be called sleep because it's so uncomfortable and annoying.

An ounce of moonlight oozes down through the mine shaft in the ceiling, shrouding the clammy walls in a blueish glow. I just lay here and breathe for a few long moments before gathering the strength to pick my aching self up off the floor and over to the hollow elevator shaft. Looking up at the foggy black sky, stapled with stars.

The day of aching, gut-wrenching thoughts and words and feelings had gradually melted into this callous of numbness. I don't know how Nancy ever got to sleep—but I kind of envy her ability to zone out like that. It's not easy.

Backpacks only make good substitute pillows if you fill them with stuff like paper and clothes—not flashlights and books and tools and bottles of water. I think I'd rather sleep on a rock—and there are plenty of those in here.

Right now I'm pretty tempted to just stand here for the rest of the night. I don't care how sore and possibly swollen my ankle is—honestly it's nothing. I'm pretty thankful that I didn't break my leg, because that's what I was totally expecting from taking a fall so hard.

Of course, my head still feels like total crap—and my backpack pillow and sleep deprivation is not helping at all. I let my eyes fall shut for a few seconds. Letting the cold silently eat through my overcoat and into my skin.

I told Nancy everything today. Everything. Every. Little. Thing. In a way, it felt good to finally be able to spill my guts to her—but it hurt so much. Like this rushing, emptying, burning feeling that left me numb and wanting to forget everything that ever happened and start over.

She listened to it all, and didn't really say much to me afterwards—other than how she was glad that I told her and she was sorry for not listening and trusting me before.

I didn't get as much out of her words as I did out of her eyes. She was overwhelmed. Her gaze was vague and fleeting after that—but held onto mine in longer, deeper looks.

"God," the words come out on my next exhale—visible in the cold, "How are we going to get out of here? Because I'm not seeing a way out." I let my eyes close again. "I can't see it."

* * *

"Joe—have you seen this?"

I glance up at the sound of Nancy's voice, turning my attention away from the annoying project I've been stuck with for half the morning, which just happens to be screwing around with Nancy's iPhone, trying to get some kind of a hint of a signal from the heavens—to no avail.

"Seen what?"

Nancy doesn't explain it further—she just motions with one hand for me to come over to the other side of the cave room, where she's examining the smoothly-curved wall. When I cross the room, she starts tracing something with her finger—a set of spidery hairline cracks emanating in a circle shape from one spot in the rock wall.

"This is kind of interesting…"

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you think it is?"

"I don't know, really…" Nancy shrugs one shoulder, analyzing it.

"It looks almost like a weak area in the wall—like… a thin spot." I run my palm over the cracks in the wall—where it looks like someone had obviously tried to smash through a while ago.

"A thin spot?" Nancy turns to cast me a hopeful glance. "Thin enough to bust through?"

I nod slowly. "…Possibly. But who knows what's on the other side of this? I mean, we are like… underground."

"True. It could be just another tunnel," Nancy sighs, "And who knows how hard it's going to be to break through,"

"Well an object is only as strong as its weakest point."

She gives a slight nod and a tired smile. "..That's also true."

"But who knows?" I pull my gaze off of her, scanning the wall for anything else unordinary.

Her eyes follow mine for a few seconds. "…What do you mean?"

And that's when I notice something new—and frankly, kind of weird. One long, thin crack coursing its way in a wide circle around the thin spot in the wall.

"I don't know, exactly… but this looks like some sort of hidden doorway to the next tunnel." I point out the circular crack to Nancy. "See this cut? This whole piece of wall is big enough to be an opening for someone to get through—I have a feeling that this wall is definitely meant to be somehow removed."

Nancy bites her lower lip, nodding slowly. "…How the heck are we going to smash through this? I mean, it's probably really thick."

I shrug one shoulder, managing a stupid smile. "Well it is rock."

"Exactly!" Nancy runs a hand through her long hair. "Don't they usually get through this stuff with explosives?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah, typically."

"Well we seem to be a little low on those."

"Oh I don't know." shrugging slightly, I lean against the wall on one shoulder. "I could probably figure out how to build some kind of a bomb with the stuff in my backpack."

Nancy wants to laugh—but instead she just rolls her eyes and lets a little smile bleed through. "I think that hacking at it by hand would probably be safer." she blows out a sigh. "And possibly more affective."

"And probably more time consuming."  
Nancy gives me a look. "Are you saying that you could make a bomb faster?"

I let my sore head rest against the wall. "I'm saying that I could try," I shrug slightly. "Hacking through it by hand is going to take years."

Nancy pulls in a quick breath, shooting me a look. "Then we should probably get started soon, right?"

I shake my head, half-teasingly. "…You're killing me with your optimism."

"And you're killing me with your pessimism." Nancy smiles a little, nudging me out of the way.

"Hey, I'm not being pessimistic," I drag myself back over to where my backpack is thrown down on the ground. "I'm the one who's offering to build a bomb."

"Fine, you go build your bomb," Nancy starts rifling through the stuff in her backpack, obviously looking for a tomahawk of some form or fashion. "And meanwhile, I'll get started on this wall."

I nod slowly, but don't really take it seriously—and glace back down at Nancy's phone in my hands.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers: Right? I would like to learn how to charge a phone using an alarm clock too, haha! xD Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm on a trip currently, but I'm going to try and update this story as often as I can! :D Enjoy this installment! _


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty: Coat Over Cold (Nancy Drew)**

It's colder than ever tonight. There's this icy, bitter draft flowing down through the mine, making itself at home in this cave where Joe and I are trapped. It's so crazy how far the temperature drops when darkness comes.

Joe is working on trying to start something of a fire with the debris from the wrecked elevator—and it's obviously not easy. Everything in here is damp, including the wood.

We spent pretty much the whole day trying to bust through this wall using every unbreakable thing we could get our hands on. Needless to say, it was a total fail. (Not that this determines anything we're going to try tomorrow. But I can almost bet you that, stupid as this sounds, I will be back in front of that wall, slamming and smashing and kicking it every way I know how.)

My arms are so tired. And I'm so hungry. All I found for food in my backpack was a handful of Kringle bars—and all Joe has is a couple packages of freeze-dried ice cream. Legit. We are so unprepared, it's actually kind of sad.

We've been stuck here for two whole days, already. I know now that the train has left Brimstone. Joe was right—there's no way Tino would let them come looking for us. I'm starting to seriously believe that there is no escape from this mine. Stuck in the very lowest, disconnected level without an elevator is not a good place to be—and as far as either of us can tell right now? We are seriously, legitimately, unequivocally screwed.

"I am so going to be tempted to burn one of those maps in a second.." Joe mutters this more to himself than to me, obviously getting a little frustrated with the fire-starting.

I blow out a drained sigh, looking up to pitch him a look. "Come on, you know we can't do that."

Joe doesn't look convinced. "Yeah well, we _can_ freeze to death, you know."

"I know." I pull my gray sweater closer around my shoulders. "Do you think I want that to happen?"

He lets out a soft sigh that embodies itself against the cold for a split second.

"I can understand your frustration…" my gaze trails to his hands. "…Wouldn't it be easier to get that fire started with a lighter? Instead of like… flint?"

"Easier? Yeah," Joe flicks the steel around his hand. "But I don't have a lighter."

"You unprepared boy scout." I shake my head slowly and smile for the first time in what feels a lot like forever. Then I reach down for my backpack which has been laying beside me on the ground, unzippering the front pocket and pulling out a lighter. And tossing it to Joe.

He gives me a look—the one with the eyebrow. You know what I mean. "…Golly. Frank would give you a merit badge for that."

I can't help but laugh and roll my eyes a little, straightening back up—watching as Joe ignites the broken edges of the wood and the fire begins to catch. Slowly, first. Letting off a stream of smoke to whisper its way up into the mine shaft.

Joe breathes into his hands, standing up to cross the gap between us and seat himself beside me on the ground. A few very long, quiet moments pass between us before anyone says anything. And when words do finally break the silence, they're from Joe—and come softly spoken.

"…Are you cold?"

I turn to the left to look at him. At his eyes and the fire reflected in them. "No." shaking my head quickly—trying to convince myself and failing, "No not at all."

Joe gives me a look. Something like a taste of a smile. "…It's okay to be cold, you know."

I just stare at him for a few seconds, not knowing what to say next, for whatever reason.

"It's okay to admit that.. you _are_ cold." then he starts sliding his overcoat off his arms, and I snap out of it.

"What? No, you can't give me your coat."

"Oh yeah?" he smiles—like he does—raising his eyebrows, continuing to take off his coat, "And who's stopping me?"

"I am. You're going to freeze to death if you don't keep that on,"

"Yeah, well what about you?"

"I have a coat," I fold my arms over my chest, pulling the long sleeves of my sweater down over my hands.

Joe throws me a glance—not buying it. "What you're wearing? That's not a coat—"

"It's enough." I hold his gaze for a second. "I'm not cold.."

Another doubtful look from his eyes. "…Really?"

"Really. The fire's helping." I give a quick nod. "Now put your coat back on."

Joe relents this time, unenthused. Pulling it back on over his arms but still leaving it open—not acting like a guy ready to catch hypothermia.

By this point the fire has caught on to the rest of the wood—eating up the lingering dampness and projecting a hazy orange glow around us on the cave walls and ceiling. Leaving nothing but the muted crackling and wheezing of the fire to flavour the silence. I let my gaze and my thoughts drift elsewhere, pulling a deep, cold sigh down into my lungs.

"…Are you okay, Nancy?" Joe's voice reaches me so soft and numbly, I'm not sure if I'm even awake for a second.

"What?" I feel my eyebrows come together as I turn to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" his gaze falls from mine for a few seconds, then locks back into place. Bright burning blue. "..Are you okay?"

I nod slowly, forcing myself to push on a weak smile and drag my air of confidence out of its sick bed. "Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, it's just…" Joe pauses to let out a breath in the form of a tired sigh. "it's draining. Everything about this."

I nod again, numbly. Feeling myself swallow what feels a lot like bitter reality. Everything.

So draining. Like standing and looking up. Waiting. And trying to smash through a wall to get out. Staring at a useless phone. Watching its battery slowly die. Dawn. And the shadows moving. Then sunset. And darkness. Feeling colder and hungrier the next day. Trying to ignore the pain. Trying to hold it together.

I find that I can't really speak after this—either from not knowing what to say, or the fact that my throat has closed into a knot, not allowing any words out. That's when I realize that I can't hold it in anymore. I can't believe I'm breaking this easily. I thought I was stronger. I thought I could hold it in. The flames start to blur in my eyes, so I ease my face into my palms—a tear breaking away and trailing into my hand. I can't hide it now. My next breath breaks out as a sob, and two more warm tears escape my eyes, melting into my palms.

"Nancy.."

"I'm sorry, Joe," I pull my face out of my hands, the ache welling up inside my chest and I feel like I'll explode if I don't let it out somehow. So I cry. I just break down. I don't want to, but who can ever stop themselves from melting into a puddle of total hysteria and falling into the arms of the one person who understands what you're going through?

"Don't be sorry, Nance…" I feel him whisper. Warm arms wrapping around my shoulders and holding me gently—almost like he's afraid that I'll break. "It's okay."

"No, it's not—"

"Yes, it is," Joe replies, his voice so soft it's barely audible. "you don't have to be so strong all the time, you know."

He lets go for a few seconds, and I feel him push his coat off his arms—then pull it around my shoulders. And this time I don't protest at all. Because I'm so warm all of a sudden, with his coat and his arms wrapped around me. Almost surreally, the ache in my chest starts to vanish—but the tears don't. They slip from my eyes and melt into my jeans when they fall.

"The truth." I pull in a breath and manage to get a few words out in between choked sobs. "The truth is, I'm not okay. I'm scared."

Joe doesn't say anything for a moment, so I go on.

"I'm scared about what's happening to us. What's going to happen to us? What if there's no way out? …What if no one comes back for us. What if we.. die here?"

With my head against his shoulder, I feel him pull in a slightly shaky breath before speaking.

"…That won't happen, Nancy. I promise that won't happen." he runs his hand over my right arm, pausing in search for the words. "I won't pretend to know the way out of here—I don't know. But we'll get out somehow. I promise."

"Promise?" the word escapes my lips, sounding small and afraid. "…How can you promise that,"

Joe doesn't answer this for a few more seconds. I let my head drop slightly from his shoulder, the silence so still, I think I can faintly pick up his heartbeat.

Finally I feel him pull in a breath. "…Just trust me."

I don't reply to this, feeling that my voice is too achy to make its way out. So I let my tired eyes fall shut.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _eeeep so happy to get this review! Thank you so much! Haha, I thought maybe you were away or something and since you're my only reader I wanted to wait to post this. :) Ah, no indeed, Joe was sadly just joking about the bomb haha. Although it really would help! xD YAY I'm so happy you liked that last chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one too! 3_


	31. Chapter 31

**chapter thirty-one. frank hardy. bloody pickpocket.**

"When do I get a break from this?"

Lillan rolls her eyes at this question, elbowing me aside to dump another tray of dirty dishes on the counter next to the sink. "Never."

"No, I'm serious."

"So am I." she shrugs and leaves.

So helpful. Seriously, I'm not complaining. I'm stoked to be able to work for a place to stay while I'm stuck in this wonderful little ghost town—but I feel like I've been washing dishes nonstop for five hours. And it's getting old. Fast.

Lillan is proving herself to be a totally relentless employer. She woke me up before the diner opened this morning—it was literally still dark—the wakeup call being a converse toe jabbing into my ribs. Then I was all but thrown into the kitchen where I've been washing dishes ever since.

I'm tired, hungry, and in need of a very large cup of strong coffee.

The worst part is that I haven't had a minute to get anywhere with that Wi-Fi password. In order to move forward with this plan at all, I need to get away from this sink and somehow kidnap Lillan's phone in order to infiltrate the hard drive and locate the password memory bank. Every phone's default settings are rigged to automatically store entered passwords and assuming that she's never changed that default setting, the odds are in my favour.

I was betting on the hardest part being snatching her phone—but now I'm starting to think that the hardest part is going to be getting away from these dishes for a five minute break.

But by the time Lillan pushes back through the swinging door to the kitchen with another armload of dishes, I've formulated a brilliantly deceptive plan. And it requires some convincible acting on my part.

She stops beside me, letting everything on the tray slide into the sink and disappear beneath the soap.

"Ow! Son of a—" I grab my right hand with my left, pulling out of the water.

"What is it now?" she barks, obviously unfazed—but her attention is caught by my outburst, and that's all I need.

"I think I slit my hand open on something," I wince, probably playing up the pain way too much. Letting my gaze trail down slightly to barely brush past her waist apron pocket—where I know for a fact she keeps her phone.

Lillan rolls her eyes. "How bad is it?"

I steal a glance at my hand which is perfectly fine underneath my over-dramatic grasp. "I guess I could keep going, if you don't mind a little blood."

Lillan throws the empty tray down on the counter. "Go take care of it," she nods in the direction of the bathroom which is around the corner in the backroom.

I turn to leave. "Thanks—it should only take me like five minutes—" and I purposely don't look exactly where I'm stepping and bump into her—dropping one hand straight down into her apron pocket without her noticing. With one quick motion, I grab the phone with my fingertips and flip it around into my left palm. Out of sight as I switch back to clasping my "slit-open" hand like if the whole thing was a trip-up.

Lillan lets out nothing more than one of her trademarked annoyed scoffs, shoving me out of the way. Not suspecting a thing. _Ha. Smooth as silk._

I dodge out of the kitchen and into the bathroom, snapping on the light and a fan, apparently—which makes an insane amount of noise. Very distracting. I slam the door shut and lock myself inside, taking a seat on the closed toilet and swiping the screen of Lillan's iPhone to unlock it.

"Okay, local disk… C drive. Let's go."

For whatever reason, the files are taking a long time to open, which isn't helping me at all. But a few clicks and probably five minutes later, I've located the memory bank folder and opened it up. There are only a few passwords saved, so just to play it safe, I pull a gel pen out of my pocket and scribble down all three of them into hand. Then I realize..

 _What am I doing? This ink won't last two minutes on my hands—I'm washing freaking dishes! Dang it…_

I look up as a set of ticked footsteps pound into earshot, approaching the bathroom where I'm pretty much hiding out. Man, this isn't good.

I feverishly roll down the sleeve of my overshirt, scribbling the passwords down on the fabric. Then I cap the pen and throw it back into my pocket, rolling my sleeve back up. The door knob is jiggled violently.

"Frank, are you in there?" Lillan's signature chainsaw voice carves through the door.

And I still have her phone in my hand! I close out of the open file folders and start to permanently delete the idling apps.

"Uh, yeah, just um… washing this cut—"

"Then why is the door locked?"

 _Dang. It's over._ "Uh… I didn't realize—"

"OPEN THE DOOR!"

 _Wow. Outburst, much?_ I let a tense few seconds elapse before replying.

"….No."

"NO?" Lillan sounds fully shocked—violently twisting at the knob and actually kicking the door at one point. "Give me back my phone. Right now!"

"Your phone?" I decide to act all innocent about it, locking the screen of her iPhone and letting some water run in the sink to hopefully distract her. "….What makes you think that I'd have your phone?"

"Oh I don't know—" she starts off sarcastically, obviously ticked. "I had it like two seconds ago, and now it's gone. And I know I didn't touch it at all, so—"

"So you think that I took it?"

"I know that you took it."

I turn off the water, realizing that I can't really cover up anymore. It's over. So I just reach out for the handle and throw the door open.

"Well for once, Lillan, you're actually right." I shove the phone into her hands, managing to slip past her through the doorway, leaving her standing there in total wide-eyed shock for a moment.

"What? You just—how DARE you talk to your employer like that!" Lillan starts chasing me down on my way to the kitchen door. "Don't walk away from me!"

I stop before the swinging door and turn to look at her.

"Why did you steal my phone? What the heck were you doing with it?" she pockets the phone again, glaring at me.

"What do you think I was doing with it, Lillan? Playing Candy Crush with my Facebook friends?"

She rolls her eyes, obviously disgusted. "I don't know—you were probably trying to hack my Wi-Fi or something,"

"Well you can't technically "hack" Wi-Fi, but in a sense I guess you could say that—"

"How dare you!" Lillan almost literally screams, ready to throw something at me. "Who do you think you are?"

"Lillan, you don't understand—I need that Wi-Fi. It could be more important than—"

"I understand this COMPLETELY." Lillan shakes her head, giving me the most severe of death stares. "I don't care who you are and you can starve on the streets in the cold for all I care—you are so out of here!"

* * *

 _FlightFeathers: EEEEP thank you so much! Yes I totally agree - sometimes the best kind of bonding/relationship building doesn't require dramatic conversations or secrets or anything lol. I'm so glad you liked that last chapter! Thank you for the review! And yes haha I won't spoil anything for you but Frank will definitely look out for his bro and Nancy! Good ole Frank 3 gotta love him :)_


	32. Chapter 32

**chapter thirty-two. joe hardy. and the truth in theology.**

It's my turn to smash the wall. And man, it's a freaking frustrating job. The best thing I could find among Nancy's stuff was a small boat anchor—do not ask why she had this in her backpack. I still have no idea. But I don't really care. It's heavy and kind of sharp on one end, so it's actually ideal for trying to break through rock with.

Morning has already come and gone. I fell asleep really late last night, and woke up really early—sometime before dawn. The fire had gone out and Nancy was still asleep in my arms with her head against my shoulder. So I didn't move until she woke up.

Things seem somehow different after last night. I honestly have no idea what happened. It all feels like a blur of night and cold and overcoats and fire and insomnia. But I feel like that icy gap that was separating us for a long time is gone, now. And man, it feels good to be normal again.

It didn't take long before we got started on the wall. Nancy seems to think that this is seriously the only way out—but honestly, I'm still sceptical about breaking through this wall. I mean, as of now, we haven't made much progress other than adding a few more chips and cracks to the supposed "weak spot" and exhausting ourselves in the process.

I had to all but pull Nancy away from the wall after an hour of smashing and kicking and driving herself to the brink of fainting. She relented to taking a break, but only after I said that I'd take her place for an hour or as long as I could stand it.

It's sort of required of a guy to not give up on something like this especially when he's doing it instead of/in front of a girl. I mean, he has to at least go ten minutes over her time. At least. That's just how it is.

Anyway, I feel like I've been doing this for twenty minutes and man, I'm already exhausted. And that actually kind of scares me—because if there was ever any psychological degree I excelled in, it's endurance. But maybe it has something to do with how I haven't legitimately eaten anything in like three days.

I have no idea where the first half of the day went. It feels like afternoon now, but Nancy's phone has died so I really have no idea what time it is. Not like it matters.

I slam at the wall again—this time driving the sharp end of the anchor straight into the biggest crack in the wall and it actually sticks there.

"Hey, Joe? Can you come here a minute?"

"Yeah sure," I back away from the wall, turning to face Nancy, who has been sitting next to her backpack on the floor, looking over the two hand-drawn maps that she brought with her, for whatever reason.

"What's up?"

Nancy doesn't reply at first, her gaze flicking back and forth between the two maps. "…I was just noticing something kind of strange about these.. one looks almost like… a different colour. Do you see what I mean?" she takes the two ends of the maps in both hands and holds them up against the dull afternoon light coming in through the mine shaft.

"Yeah, I can definitely see a difference. This one has like a yellow film over the back." I flick the parchment in Nancy's left hand. "Which map is that, anyway?"

"The 1904." she lets the oversized slice of paper fall back into her lap. We both look over it for a few moments before anyone speaks.

"So why do you think it looks slightly different?"

Nancy shakes her head slowly. "I don't know, really," then she flips the map around, examining the back. "But I've seen something similar on old documents that have some kind of hidden message on the back… like, something written in invisible ink."

I raise an eyebrow. "So you think that's the case here?"

Nancy nods slowly. "…Possibly. Very likely." there's a few seconds of silence before she turns to look at me again, "You wouldn't happen to have any lemon juice in your backpack, would you?"

"Shouldn't you have lemon juice? For instances like this?" I can't help but tease her just a little—because I never really get to. "You unprepared girl scout."

Nancy rolls her eyes. "Oh shut up. You're one to talk."

"I know—sorry." I smile and grab my backpack, pulling open the side pocket which is really the lamest excuse for a first aid kit that anyone had ever. "I don't have lemon juice. But this should work." I pull out a seriously tiny travel-sized bottle of isopropyl alcohol, handing it to her.

"Good idea," Nancy takes the bottle and uncaps it. "I didn't even think of that—I do have some of this in my backpack, too."

I shake my head in mock dismay. "Should've known."

Nancy smiles a little but doesn't look up as she pours some of the alcohol into her palm—enough to dampen both hands with—then begins to gently rub the back of the 1904 map.

Of course, the stuff is too strong to pour on directly and could potentially damage the map because it's so old. So the process is a long one. And if there is no hidden message on the back of this thing, I'm lighting it on fire. Seriously.

Finally Nancy recaps the bottle and starts with the top left corner of the parchment—breathing out warmth which almost instantly shows up a scribble of writing—then it vanishes.

We both exchange a freaked-out, excited look.

"Well come on, help me out with this," Nancy nudges my arm slightly.

"How? Like how they do it in National Treasure?" I'm totally game for that—other than the fact that it'll take us pretty much forever to reveal the entire message. I mean, this map is huge.

Nancy purses her lips. "Unless you can think of a better way…?"

I let my gaze trail slightly. "…Possibly. A fire?"

Nancy thinks about it for a few seconds. "Yeah. Sure." she shrugs one shoulder. "It's worth a try, I mean."

I get to it quickly. We've got enough wood to last us probably two more nights in here—not like we're planning on sticking around for that long. But I save it for that purpose, anyway. Because you never know.

The fire catches onto the wood a few seconds after I light it, giving off a little warmth—not much, but better than Nancy and I trying to breathe on the thing.

So I motion Nancy over to the fire and she brings the map, holding it up carefully above the flames. For a few silent, tense seconds nothing happens—but then the grayish, handwritten words start to gradually bleed out into view on the paper.

We both sort of squint to read the messy handwriting as it appears down the page.

 _ **March 28, 1905**_

 _ **To whomever has come this far,**_

 _ **I must reveal my secrets before I am lost forever.**_

 _ **I was a fool to have ever brought Mr. James E. Thurston into my employment – the man was nothing but a savage, eager betrayer from the very start. My confidential mine had always been hidden and no one knew of its existence other than the men I'd employed to mine it – men who had sworn to complete secrecy on the subject. No one spoke of it or ever dared to track it down lest they be caught and penalized. Until Thurston came along, who had never been, and never would be in my confidence.**_

 _ **On the eighteenth day of March in the year of Nineteen Hundred and Five, I commanded him to bring the train to the west ridge of Blue Moon Canyon so I could set off on foot to check on the progress of the mine. He let me off at the point, and I told him to circle Brimstone and I would be there for him to pick me up on the other side. But when I was finished and came back to the pre-designated point, I couldn't find the train anywhere.**_

 _ **Immediately I understood what must have been happening – that Thurston was after the mine and the fortune therein. I ran back to the site and found him there, executing what I know now would be considered a hostile takeover. He was armed –with his own weapons and that of Briggs, my operation manager. He was commanding my men to get into the mine and not step a foot outside unless or until he ordered them to do so.**_

 _ **At first I tried to approach him with an element of surprise, but one of my men saw me – John McCarthy – and called out to me reactively, giving away my disguise. (He later realized what he had done, poor fellow, and was deeply cut up about it.) Thurston ordered McCarthy back into the mine, then turned back to me and I was sure that if I hadn't moved and followed his command, he would've pulled the trigger. I was the one he really wanted dead – but I have too much pride to let my life go without a putting up a fight, at least. So I obeyed his command and followed the rest of my men into the mine. There was something about the way he shouted and looked at me. There was something foreign in his eyes – a crazed, shifting kind of gaze that I'd never seen come over him before. He seemed to me like a man possessed.**_

 _ **Thurston had managed to drive us all inside the mine like a pack of frightened, wayward sheep. The smoky, lamp lit tunnels were all echoing with a slew of confused, shaken questions – was the man mad? What was his plan? What was he going to do with us? I was just as confused as the others. James Thurston was just one man – how could he hold any power over us, a crew of some 45 able-bodied men? But I'd never underestimated the strength of one man fully imbibed on hatred and envy.**_

 _ **Perhaps his plan was to trap us in there for as long as he was able – to starve us out. At the time this notion seemed implausible and was even laughed at by some of the men. But as night slowly came upon us, tensions started to rise and I know that more than a few of us were starting to fear for our lives.**_

 _ **The mine has a very unique, custom-built drainage system designed specifically for when the melt of spring comes down through the canyon and rushes through the mine. There are drainage holes blasted into some of the crevasses and lower tunnels, where the water can flow out but the bedrock is not very absorbent, so I designed a backup system - if the water builds up enough, it follows a routed course down into a holding cavity with a fall-out wall – and if ever there were so much water this cavity could not contain it, the fall-out wall would break away and allow the water to flow into the lowest level of the mine under the elevator shaft. I designed the mine this way to be sure that if it were ever flooded, my men would have the time and means to evacuate safely.**_

 _ **I realized that night as I lay there in the cold, unlit tunnels –Thurston knew all about the drainage troubles with the mine and the flooding in the spring. I didn't understand what his plan was and how he would use this weakness to take advantage of us – but I knew one thing for sure: he was going to do everything within his power to wipe us out and take what the mine had to offer for himself.**_

 _ **I expound on all this merely to explain how we found our escape. First we waited until the cover of night, which was almost as torturous as the prospect of starving to death.**_

 _ **Just outside the entrance to the mine, I knew that Thurston must have been executing his plan to take over my operation. He must have had backup – armed men – on their way to Brimstone to assist him in controlling and possibly killing us. I knew that the sooner we escaped the mine, the better our chances of surviving were.**_

 _ **Soon after the most despairing hour of night had come and gone, the plans of escape began to strike us full-force. A few of the men started talking of it, and before long, the notion arose that Thurston knew of the emergency exit of the mine and would likely have a guard posted there, too. We didn't think it worth the risk, although some of the men said that they were willing to risk their necks and try the exit.**_

 _ **Above all, I didn't want any of my men to be shot and killed. Not only their partnership, but their friendship had become dear to me and I wasn't about to put any one of them in danger. But danger inevitably was to be unleashed upon us, full-force – and men were to be shot and killed. And unfortunately, there was no avoiding it. Perhaps my commands in tactics could have been altered to save a few men's lives – perhaps not. I'm sick and tired of regrets.**_

 _ **McCarthy then found me in the tunnels and told me of another exit – one that was cleverly added by some of the men recently to use in emergency situations such as this when the first emergency exit was inaccessible. He pointed out that Thurston couldn't possibly know of this way out – and it was well hidden behind a pillar of crag that would be well out of sight from both the front exit and first emergency exit. This news excited me so I smiled and told McCarthy that I would be in his and his co-workers debt for the rest of the foreseeable future. He laughed and merely quoted that old adage, "A sly rabbit has three openings to his den." Looking back, it cuts me deep to remember those last words of his.**_

 _ **I had him lead the way and the rest of my men followed. Everything seemed to be eerily going according to plan – that is, until we got outside. McCarthy offered to go out before me – lest anything should go awry. I thanked him for his bravery with a nod and told him that I would be going out ahead of anyone else – as the orchestrator and commander of this entire mine and operation, I was responsible for the behaviour of my employees.**_

 _ **When I escaped through the narrow exit, it was dark – but not entirely. The surrounding crags and dips in the canyon were illuminated by dim kerosene lamps which seemed to be scattered everywhere, held in numb anticipation by hands which I could now see belonged to a small army of private security guards – well equipped with firearms which glistened through the thin, cold fog.**_

 _ **I think my heart literally sank to my boots at that point – I knew that there was no escape. Thurston came well prepared to put up a fight. He must have hired a private security contractor to guard the "barracks" of the mine with armed men. I immediately realized that the only hope we had at that moment would be to quickly get back into the mine before anyone saw me and my men trying to escape through this hidden exit. But I didn't move fast enough.**_

 _ **McCarthy was right behind me and emerging from the opening – he didn't say anything directly to me, but I heard his boots thump against the dusty rock, and then came a gasp – a sickened one. Not the kind you breathe from shock or surprise. But the kind you have involuntarily dragged out of your lungs when you're about to die.**_

 _ **I turned quickly, seeing someone in the shadows. McCarthy fell forward into my arms, his clothes bloodied and his body lifeless. A second later I saw his murderer – Thurston, with that same enraged, crazy glint in his eyes, holding onto the bloody dagger. I knew right away that Thurston had no intention of killing John McCarthy – it was me that he wanted dead. Presumably he had thought that one of my men would have come out of the mine ahead of me – as a precaution – and I would've been the second. And given the fact that McCarthy and I had similar builds and statures, he would have known no difference in the smoky dark.**_

 _ **At this point I was fuming mad, about ready to strangle James Thurston. He had just killed my best man – and closest friend – before my very eyes! I seized Thurston by the shoulders, foolishly disregarding his dagger's shaky aim at my chest, and managed to pin him up against the side of the cliff.**_

 _ **I shouted at him as I felt the need to, cursing and trying to twist the dagger out of his blood-stained hands – to no avail, but it didn't alarm me because I had my own knife at my belt and was ready to use it as was necessary. I pulled it out at last and thrust its blade up against his throat, telling him that he had better run for his life if he intended to keep it.**_

 _ **He did run – he slipped away from my hold and bolted down through the dusty, rocky slope of the canyon, straight through what looked like a field of his soldiers waiting to advance with their dimming lamps in hand. But he didn't leave without striking fire to the entire scene. His crazed, deranged voice – what he said as he ran like a dog from the canyon – will continue to resound through my ears: "Kill them! I want them dead – I want them all dead!"**_

 _ **That was all it took to spark the battle. I didn't watch it take place – in fact, I only heard pieces of what happened as I charged through the guards in the foggy darkness, chasing after Thurston, who was almost out of sight.**_

 _ **It's an eerie sound – footsteps stampeding, gunshots echoing, bullets ricocheting around in the canyon walls, and men crying out, being hit and stabbed and bleeding. I ran from it all, taking off after Thurston through the darkness. Away from the lamps of the guards, my eyes started to adjust to the dim moonlight and I could just make out his shadowed figure through the fog, and not far before him, the train – resting crooked and derailed, half her muscled iron crumpled into a wreck against the rocks.**_

 _ **I was sweating and breathing hard by the time I got to the train's engine, which was nearly pushed over on its side – yanking on the door and finding it locked. I feverishly scaled my way up the side of the engine and pulled myself up to the open window, looking down inside and finding Thurston there.**_

 _ **He had fallen on his own dagger, and I could clearly see him through the dense, filtered moonlight, lying motionless on the floor of the car, a trail of blood down his arm. I remember saying out loud to nothing but the foggy, cold night air which was already heavy with the smell of death and gunpowder, "You damn coward – too afraid to die by another's sword?"**_

 _ **I had no choice but to leave. I ran back to the mine to assist my men. The guards had mostly left the slope of the canyon, and there were shouts and cries echoing out from under the ground, down in the mine. I dove down into the tunnels, chasing the cries, keeping my own revolver and knife ready in my hand. I can't remember exactly how it all ended – but once I was sure that what was left of my men had escaped, I followed.**_

 _ **I fled to a neighbouring town for the night, hiding out until I knew for sure that the hired gunmen had left the canyon. As soon as dawn came, I got back to the mine to find the result of the massacre that took place the night before. At least two dozen men lie dead in the canyon – more than half of them being my workers. It was a terrible blow to both me and my operation, and I mourned the loss.**_

 _ **The rest of my men had fled the scene without much more than a few scratches – they were all gradually accounted for. With what was left of my broken operation, we carefully transported all that we had mined underground to carts and eventually, when it could be arraigned, a train. I am to have my little fortune shipped confidentially to my private secure storage in Boulder Springs, for an inheritance. I had sent the rest of my men on their way with what money I had left, divided between them, with my best of luck for them. I'm afraid I will miss their loyalty and hard work dearly.**_

 _ **As for myself, I have bought a horse – who does not seem to be in very good health – and I will leave this place for good. I am telling no one of my whereabouts. I would rather vanish like a burning fog from the face of the earth than be accounted for in history as a man who eventually died either from some form of sword or ailment.**_

 _ **And so, this letter – penned in invisible ink lest any relative of Thurston discover and destroy all evidence of the man's obvious insanity and demise. I want this letter to fall into worthy hands that will hold the knowledge within them and have the ability to fill in the blank of history with this event. I am leaving this map on the train for this purpose only.**_

 _ **Until then, I remain a man too prideful to be remembered as dead – a man unknown,**_

 _ **Jake Hurley**_

Nancy looks up from the paper just as I finish reading.

It feels like a long time before either of us say anything—then she finally breaks the silence. "It's so crazy to think that… no one has ever known about this except us."

I nod slowly, and feel like pointing out the fact that we might be the only ones to ever know about it if we don't get out of here alive—but instead I just say, "It's even crazier to think that Balducci was making up that whole thing about Jake Hurley murdering Thurston—and convincing everyone to believe it—when really it was just the opposite."

Nancy nods, turning to face me, her blue eyes still pretty wide. "I know right? It's insane. Something tells me that Tino must've had more of a motive for making that whole story up…" she looks back down to the paper in her hands. "But you know what's even more insane than that?"

"What?"

"This," she drags her index finger along the yellowed parchment, finding a place within the text and reading it over, out loud this time. "The mine has a very unique, custom-built drainage system designed specifically for the melt of spring… there are drainage holes blasted into some of the crevasses and lower tunnels, where the water can flow…. it follows a routed course down into a holding cavity with a fall-out wall – and if ever there were so much water this cavity could not contain it, the fall-out wall would break away and allow the water to flow into the lowest level of the mine under the elevator shaft. I designed the mine this way to be sure that if it were ever flooded, my men would have the time and means to evacuate safely." Nancy stops reading here and looks up at me. "If this is the lowest level of the mine, underneath the elevator shaft…."

I swallow what feels like a lead weight, knowing exactly what she's implying.

"Then that means on the other side of this wall—the wall we've been trying to smash through this whole time—is actually a holding cavity of water, ready to bust through the wall and flood the mine at any moment if too much snow melts and flows down into the mine."

I obviously don't say anything. I mean, I can't even freaking speak at this point.

God, is this for real? How can this possibly be happening.

Feeling totally overwhelmed and kind of light-headed, I get to my feet and pull myself back across the room, stopping in front of the wall. Just standing there for a few long seconds and just staring at it.

"You know, it might not have much water behind it at all," I point out, grabbing the anchor which is still jabbing into the wall and giving it a hard, sudden jolt, pulling it out of the sizable crack I'd added earlier.

"Yeah." I hear Nancy say quickly behind me, rolling up the map again. "Maybe you're right,"

I let the anchor drop to the floor, feeling the weight come down on me all at once as I bring my eyes back up again to take in the deep, crooked crack in the wall—which I suddenly notice is beginning to weep slow, steady drops of cold water.

* * *

 _The Madman From Hollywood: Thank you so much for all the reviews! I really enjoyed reading your thoughts on all these chapters and I hope you like this new installment! :D _

_FlightFeathers:_ _EEEEP so happy you liked that last chapter! Haha yes Frank is a sneaky one XD and I loved the shout out to Oliver Twist! 3 Yeah, I kind of needed a reason to throw Frank out! Hahaa. As if the poor bloke wasn't desperate enough. OH WELL. He'll live. (spoiler alert! lol) I so enjoy reading your thoughts on this story! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! :D_


	33. Chapter 33

**chapter thirty-three. frank hardy. cry if you want to.**

Being homeless actually isn't so bad. I'm starting to get used to it, if that's humanly possible. Part of what makes it not too horrible is the fact that I think winter and all this unaccounted-for snow is over. I've been sitting on the front porch of Buell's all morning and literally all I can hear is the constant dribbling sound of everything melting.

It's been three days since I was left here in Copper Gorge. Three freaking days! And still no sign of the train and no contact from Joe or Nancy. This whole situation is absolute insanity.

And above everything else, I don't even have a place to stay anymore.

Last night I trudged back to the diner and slaughtered any ounce of pride I had left in me and all but got down on my knees and pleaded with Lillan to let me come back so I wouldn't be out on the streets. I literally don't have any money left—the ungrateful girl took it. All. But she refused and kicked me out of her beloved diner, screaming something at the back of my head about how if I dared to step foot on her property again she would call some sheriff dude and have me locked up. I'd like to see you try, lady.

I didn't push my luck with her after that—it's not worth it. Night proved itself to be a cold, miserable beast, but I got out of it alive—the light of day surprising me a little with purple fingertips and a phone battery at 33%. But from where I'm sitting, legally "off the premises" of the Copper Fork, I'm still getting a pretty strong Wi-Fi signal. And now I have the password. Which is awesome. (It's lilm1992—totally would not have guessed that.)

So I bring up the network login on my phone and have to breathe on my fingers for a few seconds to get them warm enough for my phone to recognize as a human touch. It signs me in quickly without a hitch and I log into Skype right away.

Sweet. Now, with any luck, I can get through to Joe's account—because he would be getting Wi-Fi on the train... if he's on the train. His status is "Away", but I send a message anyway to check if he's even near his phone.

 **Hey Joe are you there?**

 **I'm finally connected to a wi-fi network**

 **Joe?**

The messages are going through, so I know that his phone is on and logged into Skype. After a few seconds of futile waiting with no response, I decide to just call him. If he's anywhere near his phone he'll likely hear it ringing.

So I hit the call button and wait here on the porch in the damp, melting cold, listening to the default Skype ringing… then that dreaded sickening alert that sounds like dying guppies with the flashing message on my screen: CALL DROPPED.

"Oh come on…"

I've come too far and gone through too much crap to give up. So I try calling him again. And it rings. And rings. And rings. And then….

"Hello?"

The voice, which is obviously female, comes through sounding small, quivering and barely audible—never mind recognizable.

"Hello?" I try to confirm that this was an actual human I heard speaking to me, and not just some kind of tripped-out alien interruption.

"Who is this?"

"Frank Hardy. Who is this?"

"Oh my gosh, are you for real?" and now of course I can place the voice—a very shaken, freaked-out sounding Lori Girard. "Are you the for real Frank Hardy?"

I almost laugh a little, "Yes, I'm the for real Frank Hardy. God, Lori—you wouldn't believe how happy I am to hear your voice,"

"You are?" she sniffs, sounding like she's been crying and trying to repair her obviously bruised voice. "Where are you, anyway?"

"Copper Gorge."

"Are you okay out there?" she takes a weary breath into the phone. "God I miss you so much."

"Well I've been stuck here for like three whole days, now—and I'm starting to go a little insane, I think." I manage a dull, annoyed laugh. "How close are you guys to Copper Gorge?"

"Um," Lori clears her throat quietly, sounding a little distracted. "…I don't really know, to be honest. "I think like a few hours… probably."

"A few hours? Are you serious?" I can hardly believe what I'm hearing—and maybe I shouldn't, since it's coming from Lori. She could have the information all messed up, for all I know. But still—I can't help but do a mental air punch. "That's awesome."

Lori doesn't say anything for a few more seconds so I cleanly cut in to ask about why and how she picked up my call to Joe.

"I-I just… I found this phone. In the car where John Gray hangs out—you—you know, Camille's car? It was the table in there with all of his ghost equipment. I tried to call you a few times, but you never answered." Lori's already quiet, muffled voice starts to crack a little as she explains all this to me.

"Really? You found it with John Gray's equipment…?" I must admit, it's a little odd—if Joe was careless enough to lose his phone and let someone steal it, man I'm going to strangle him. "Well can you put Joe on? I kind of need to talk to him as soon as possible."

"Oh God," she says, her voice coming out barely above a broken whimper. "No."

"No? What do you mean, no?"

"I—I can't.." and that's when she loses it—and breaks down crying. Literally. She just starts sobbing into the phone, unable to speak. And I just sit here, not getting any of it.

"Lori? What's wrong?"

But she won't give it up—she just keeps crying, sounding a little more distant as she's probably pulled the phone away slightly.

"Lori, come on, it's okay—is Nancy there? Can I talk to her please?" I try to soften my voice down to be as gentle as I know how, but my question somehow just makes her sob even more hysterically—if that's even possible.

"No, you c—can't," she chokes on the words and her tears. "Sh—she's not here."

"Not there? What do you mean?" I take a shallow breath, starting to feel the ghost of a sick feeling welding around my chest. "Lori. Where are they?"

And like on cue, Lori breaks down again and I know that's the last I'm going to get out of her.

"Lori, come on. You've got to tell me. Where are they?"

She stops crying long enough to pull in a short breath and gasp, "Oh my God—oh my God this phone… I want to get off this phone."

"No wait—Lori don't.. go. You have to tell me—"

"Frank, please don't make me!" she wails into the phone, sounding scared and shaken and pretty much ready to lose it. "I want to get off this phone! I—I'll talk to you when.. when we get there."

"Lori—!"

The guppies die.

I pull the phone away from my ear, just sitting here and staring at the screen in my hands for a full few seconds—wanting so badly to call again, but knowing that the chances of getting Lori back on the phone not in a hysterical mess are absolutely zero. Not happening.

So I guess this means I'm just going to have to wait and trust Lori's word that the train will be arriving here in a few hours—hopefully before dark—and then I'll learn what is going on.

Man, what is this? Why can't Lori tell me where Nancy and Joe are? What the heck? I mean…. what the heck.

As much as I would like to believe that Lori is just an exaggerating, overreacting, emotional wreck, her words that came out through broken sobs—they were potent and real. I got something without being told anything at all—something is wrong.

Seriously wrong.

* * *

Lori was right—the train pulls into Copper Gorge about two to three (seriously long) hours after our rather emotional phone conversation, and my first objective is to find the teary blonde girl and get her to talk to me like a sane human being. Which could prove itself a little harder than I'd first thought.

I head for the caboose steps as soon as the iron beast slows enough to not crush me while I try to jump on. Then I push open the door and let myself inside, barely getting two steps in when something crashes right into me—or actually, someone. Someone with blonde braided hair.

"Whoa, hold on a second—Lori?"

She freezes for a split second, just long enough to glance up at me with her huge, damp, blue-green eyes before she slams into me again—this time on purpose, wrapping her arms around me and bursting into tears.

It's pretty strange—and kind of freaks me out—but hey, I can't really blame her. I mean, it's her party and she can cry if she wants to. …Sorry. Bad joke.

"Come on, it's okay. Shh." despite the slightly awkward situation I'm stuck in here, I try to focus, "Let's go outside, okay?"

She relaxes her arms a little, letting go enough to let me help her out the door and down the steps. Though she's still pretty shaken up, I manage to calm her down enough to breathe in the damp, warming air and walk her down the melting station path—which is filling up quickly with thick smoke and the sounds of cooling brakes.

I take Lori over to one of the wrought-iron benches lining the station and sit down beside her, hoping that she'll pull herself together a little and talk to me.

"Lori, you have to tell me what's going on," my voice comes out sounding dead serious, "Tell me where Nancy and Joe are."

Lori shakes her head, trying to wipe away some of her dripping mascara with the back of her hand.

"I—I can't," she lets her damp face fall into her hands to cover up her muted sobbing a little.

"Well if you can't, then I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to find someone else who can tell me."

"Frank, you don't get it," Lori sighs. "I'm the only one who knows about this,"

"I do get it," I reach over to pull her small, cold hand into my own. "I'm sure this must be hard for you. But you know information that I don't know—that I need to know. So please—I'm asking you to tell me."

Lori takes a shaky breath, swallowing the rest of her tears and just kind of staring at our hands which are still closed together in her lap. "…I haven't told you, because—because I don't know how."

I take a breath, "Lori, look at me,"

She glances up with just her eyes. Her tear-filled, blue-green eyes.

"I need to know. What happened to Nancy and Joe? Tell me."

Lori shakes her head numbly, dropping her gaze again. "I don't know how…"

"Just say it."

She pulls in another breath, squeezing her eyelids shut for a split second like it hurts her to even utter the words. "Nancy and Joe—" she glances back up at me, "—they're dead."

"Dead?" I repeat the one-syllable lead weight—the voice coming out not even sounding like my own.

And then she starts crying again. Like that. Whimpering something through her sobs about how she's so sorry and it's all her fault.

I do my best to crush the total freak-out mode that everything inside me wants to go into, standing and taking Lori's arm. There's just too much noise and distraction out here. And I don't know when the train is going to be leaving this station. So I lead her up onto one of the platforms halfway down the train. When I open the door I find that we're in Camille's car, which is perfect because John Gray is absent and so is his ghost-detector equipment. It's warm and dully-lit and I manage to lead Lori over to the hard antique divan thing on one side of the room, taking a seat beside her.

"It's okay, Lori—"

"No it—it's not.." she falls into my arms, totally losing it. I've never really had a girl just break down and start crying in my arms like I'm all she has left in the world.

"Lori, listen to me—please," my words manage to calm her hysterics a little in order for her to hear. "You're the only one I have right now to tell me what happened at Brimstone Canyon—what happened to Nancy and Joe. I need you to tell me right now."

"Oh God, Frank—it was so horrible," she moans, burying her tired eyes in her hands and letting her head rest against my shoulder, "I don't even know how to start." insert sobbing for another minute. Though to me, it feels like an eternity.

I mean, Lori basically just told me that my brother and one of my best friends are both dead—how am I supposed to react to that?

I'm a detective—I was raised on suspicion and justice and the ever-so-true adage, "Question everything". That's the first part of it—I can't believe that Nancy and Joe are dead. I just can't believe it. Not until I hear this from somebody who actually has legal physical evidence of the fact.

Second, it's hard to believe that anything or anyone could kill Joe. He and I have been in some pretty awful circumstances where we were absolutely sure that death was bearing down on us—but yet somehow, we're still alive. I don't know about Nancy, but I'm sure she must've gone through some of the same crap. It's almost like nothing can kill us.

Even though every fibre of my being wants to totally throw away every trace of the idea that Nancy and Joe could be dead—the words still resound in my head like lost sub-atomic particles ricocheting into oblivion. But some cold, deep fear is clawing down inside me.

I try not to give too much place to it, yet. Not until I know the truth.

"Lori, you have to tell me now—we've lost so much time already."

She nods a little, "Yes, I know," then pauses to pull a slightly quivering breath down into her lungs. "Well, I guess it started when we stopped at Brimstone Canyon. We all wanted to make the expedition thing like, really fast so we could come back here to pick you up. But we ended up arriving at the canyon at night—so late that nobody really wanted to go exploring. So we waited until morning." she stops for a second to dry her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Nancy, Joe and Tino all went out to explore the canyon first. I wasn't awake when they set off, they must've gotten up really early. But Tino left a note on the table—it said that the three of them had gone off to investigate and that they didn't need any assistance. And that they'd be back before dark.

"I obviously didn't want to go explore some creepy old mine, so I just stayed on the train. Charleena was writing, and John Gray said something about how he needed to do sequence exposures or something and went outside. But he didn't go into the canyon. None of us did. We just kind of hung around in limbo all day, waiting for Tino and Nancy and Joe to come back.

"It was getting close to sunset and I was starting to get kind of worried, y'know? Because they'd been gone like, all day. So then John Gray offered to go off and try to find them, but we said that he couldn't go all by himself and I was too scared to go, but Charleena offered to go with him, but I said that I'd be too scared to stay on the train all by myself… so we decided that it wasn't really after dark yet. And we just kind of waited." Lori takes a deep breath, pulling her tear-streaked face out of my jacket a little.

"And then a little while later, Tino came back. When we asked him why he was alone, he said that the investigation had barely gotten off the ground. He said that the mine they found was huge—way too big to explore just the three of them. He told us that Joe and Nancy had all the supplies they needed to camp out in the mine for a few nights while we took the train back to Copper Gorge to pick you up and bring you back to Brimstone.

"I said, fine, that would work out fine. And then I asked him how would we know if they needed anything? Like if Nancy and Joe were in trouble? And Tino told me that Joe had his phone with him and he could text or call us if they needed anything.

"So I… I trusted him. But then when we were like, halfway here, to Copper Gorge, the train broke down. Again. It was horrible. We were just stuck in one place for most of the day. We had to hire mechanical help from a neighbouring town and that took forever. And then John Gray kept going on and on about how he thought he captured Camille's ghost on camera. He was outside doing pictures of something and he asked me to go into his equipment and find this tool for him, so I did—but that wasn't all I found." Lori takes another breath, pulling back a few inches to look up into my eyes.

"That's when I found Joe's phone. With John Gray's things. And I was so freaked out, because Tino lied to me. He told me that Joe had his phone—he told me that he knew that for sure. And then there was Joe's phone, in my hand. So I took it. Then I went to talk to Tino."

I raise an eyebrow. "What did you say to him?"

"I said…" Lori takes a breath, her eyebrows pulling together, troubled. "I said, "You lied to me…! You told me that Joe had his phone with him and he didn't. He doesn't." and I held up the phone and he just kind of stared at me, like he didn't know how to reply. Then finally he said, "I was mistaken. It doesn't matter."

"I said, "You were mistaken? You lied!" and he was like, "You're flipping out over nothing. Why are you so worried about them?" and I was like, "'Cause how will they contact us if they need help? It's like… dangerous for them to be out there all by themselves…!" and then I asked him, "Wouldn't you say that it's dangerous?"

"And he said, "yeah, of course it is. That mine is old.. ready to fall apart… they told me that it was a risk they were willing to take." "Old and falling apart?" I said, "How could you leave them there?" and then he just… blew up at me. Out of nowhere. I couldn't believe him. He was like, "it's not my fault that the mine is ready to fall apart! Stop looking at me like that—none of this is my fault! You can't blame me if those kids get themselves killed!"

"And something about that gave me a sick feeling. I knew something wasn't right. Why would he just randomly suggest that they would get themselves killed? So I said, "what are you talking about?" but he didn't reply. Then I asked him, why did he lie to me about Joe having his phone when he didn't? And he said, "Because. Joe didn't need his phone—and it wouldn't have helped him at all." I felt like my heart sink at that point. I said, "What do you mean?" and he just said, "Don't worry about it. You don't have to worry about them anymore." And that was it." Lori stops for a long few seconds, pulling in a shaky breath and forcing herself to continue.

"It wasn't so much what he said as it was the way he said it. "His phone wouldn't have helped him." Past tense. And I… I didn't need anyone to tell me if it was true or not.. I—I just knew.. right then." her voice breaks with a sob, but she doesn't stop yet, "I knew that they were dead." she sniffs, wiping the tears away from her eyes. "And I didn't know what to do! I was so scared, Frank! I didn't know what to do…. So I just started crying and I couldn't do anything for a whole day except stay in my room and cry, be—because this whole thing was my fault—this whole stupid party was my idea and—and it's my fault that Nancy and Joe are—are d—dead…" she breaks down again, soaking my shirt with her tears in the process—which I don't really mind all that much. I just keep my arms around her and listen to everything she has to say—wordlessly.

"Charleena and John Gray—they tried to comfort me, to get me to talk to them. But I couldn't.. I was just so scared,"

"Scared of what?" I ask softly, looking down into her tear-streaked face. "Scared of Tino?"

She closes her eyes, nodding. "Scared of everything," and then she lets out a tired sob, sounding out of breath and totally drained of tears. "I'm starting to understand what Tino has done. But I didn't say anything because… I didn't want him to hurt me,"

"It's okay, Lori. That was right of you." I whisper, hoping she won't break as I hold her and let her head rest against my shoulder. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

How do I explain this? This blood boiling in my veins? _…I want to kill something._ How did all this happen? Is Tino really a murderer? Are Joe and Nancy really dead?

"Come on Lori, we have to get out of here."

"What?" she looks up at me, totally confused as I stand up from the couch and take her hand, leading her in her still kind of teary mess towards the door of the train car. "What are you saying, Frank?"

I stop in the hallway, turning back to look at her. "I mean you have to tell the engineer to head back to Brimstone Canyon as soon as possible. Like, right now. We can't waste a second." I push through the door, motioning for Lori to follow me into the next car. "Nancy and Joe need our help—"

"But Frank," Lori stops me halfway down the hallway of the sleeping car by grabbing my hand. I turn to look at her. "What if it's…. like, too late?"

I take a breath, "What if it's not too late?"

She just looks at me for a long moment. That permanent look of hurt in her eyes.

"Come on—the engineer won't take orders from anyone but you."

We make it into the furnace room of the dining car, where Lori dries her remaining tears and picks up the receiver of the phone, making the call to the engineer to tell him that we need to head back to Brimstone as soon as possible. And I wait here for her to finish the call—still feeling ready to kill something.

Are Joe and Nancy really dead? Part of me is kicking me in the face telling me that I'm just in denial, not able to swallow the fact that Joe and Nancy are gone because that fact, if it were true, would pretty much kill me. For a few seconds, something inside me actually starts to accept it. But I have to crush that something to death and decide that I can't believe this and I won't believe this.

I mean, on the logical spectrum of things, Joe and Nancy have enough experience to get out of a near-death situation. They never would've gotten into a tight place with Tino to begin with. Because they knew that he was unpredictable. Right? I won't lie—I've been suspicious of the guy ever since I first met him. I wouldn't put it past the guy to stoop to a messy killing. I've totally investigated him enough to know for fact that he's a manipulating, deceitful and calculating guy who is has blood practically dripping from his hands.

Lori turns to me, hanging up the phone and saying that we'll be ready to leave in ten minutes—which sounds like an eternity to me at this point, but I just nod and don't say anything, motioning for her to follow me back to the sleeping car, which has gradually gotten colder.

"Lori, I need you to do something for me, okay?"

"Of course," Lori's voice comes sounding quiet, stopping beside me in front of her bedroom door. Looking up at me. "I'd do anything for you, Frank."

"I need you to stay here, in your room." I push my coat off my arms, pulling it over her shoulders.

"What? Why?"

"Shh, listen to me," I let both my hands rest on her shoulders, looking down into her eyes. "I need you to stay here, in this room," I lower my voice to one octave above a whisper. "Lock your door, and don't open it for anyone. Don't leave until I come for you."

A confused look washes over Lori's face. "What? But where are you going?"

"Just wait for me to come back, okay?" I practically beg, reaching over to twist the handle of the door and let it swing open.

"Okay…."

"Can you do that for me?"

She nods, somewhat hesitantly, taking a step backward into the room and taking my coat with a little half-hearted smile.

"Thank you," I let out the words through a sigh, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Lori eases the door shut, and I wait in the hallway to hear the lock click before leaving the sleeping car. I cross the cold, barely-lit hallway of Camille's car, pushing open the iron door, letting myself outside.

Now it's time to go track down our Detective Balducci and have a little talk with him.

Man, he is so going to pay up.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _eeeeep yes the painful truth of Jake Hurley. /3 Poor dude! But yes, invisible ink is fun. xD Oooh you might be onto something about the water! I hope you enjoy reading this chapter and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update! ._


	34. Chapter 34

**chapter thirty-four. nancy drew. stare at the stars.**

There is no way out. There is water behind the wall—and there is no way out of here.

I realized it, in a numb, disbelieving sort of way when Joe and I discovered the message on the back of the map—but it didn't really hit me full-force until now.

I find myself somewhere around the middle of the night, fully fevered with insomnia of the worst degree. The kind even anaesthesia couldn't revoke.

Eventually after pacing quietly for what feels like a few hours, I pause below the elevator shaft, which reaches up to the clear, open night sky, and just stand there and watch it. After a while I seat myself on the ground—the cold, damp rock. And I watch it for a long time. And think about everything.

About how it was much warmer today, and how the snowstorm hit Copper Gorge when we were passing through there—how it must've dropped a lot of powder, and how all that stuff is melting right now. Coming down the canyon slowly, but steadily. Streaming into the mine and down the routed course and into the holding cavity on the other side of this weakened, weakening fall-out wall.

The walls are damper than usual tonight—letting their tears come down without making a sound, maybe hoping we won't notice. But I do notice. And I notice the leak in the crack in the wall—and the cold puddle of water it's been forming on the floor.

 _There is no way out._

God, I've never felt so incredibly alone in the world. Not in a lonely way, but in an empty way. In a numb, achy way. My heart is beginning to wrap calluses around itself. So I can't be hurt too much by the fresh arsenal of arrows I seem to have flung at me daily. So I can't cry.

Something inside me wants to cry—that inward, crippled, angry little girl wants to just break down and sob and let go. She wants to cry until her eyes are red and she doesn't have any tears left. Until she's exhausted and her stomach feels tied into rough, messy knots. But my pride won't let me cry. Then again, maybe it's not pride—maybe it's something more intelligent, like an unconscious protection, a shield, welding itself inside of me so I can't be stabbed or hurt again.

I think unknowingly, I'm trying to break my own heart with my heavy thoughts and anticipations—so later, it will find itself immune to the bruises. But I don't think it's going to work. I can't fix my imperfections. And I can't hurt myself, either. Maybe it's all just an illusion.

What am I thinking, anyway? Maybe I'm just hallucinating here. Insomnia usually comes with her precious inmate, Delirium, who is just as much resented and wished away.

The stars don't care about anything, though. They staple the black satin ceiling like pins, muted a shade of milky blue from the waxing gibbous moon which is just starting to come into my view. Everything is silent, save the soft swishing of a wind above, and my shallow breathing.

"Watching the stars?"

I would've nearly jumped out of my skin at the voice in any normal circumstance—but this is most definitely not a normal circumstance—and the calm, tired tone of Joe's voice makes me realize how thirsty I am for company.

"I guess so," I try to give him a half-smile. "The sky is surprisingly pretty from this view."

"That so?" I see him smile back a little in the moon-lit shadows, taking a seat on the ground beside me.

"Sorry if I woke you,"

Joe turns to me, looking sort of surprised. "You kidding? I couldn't sleep to save my life right now."

I nod a little, slowly. "Yeah, same here." Then I let out a drained kind of sigh. "I wish falling asleep was all it took to save our lives right now,"

Joe gives a half-nod, looking down for a moment, but not saying anything.

I pull in a damp dose of oxygen, deciding to ignore the metaphorical salt grinding into my metaphorical open wounds and change the subject. "So, I guess you were right,"

"What?" Joe glances up, doing that thing with his eyebrow—puzzled.

I shrug one shoulder, smiling a little. "Well you said that we'd be watching the stars sooner than we'd be sky-diving with broken parachutes. And you were right."

Joe laughs a little—for the first time in what feels like a long time, and I suddenly remember how much I've missed that laugh. "Yeah, well. Did you underestimate my ability to see into the future?"

"Haven't I always?"

Joe nods slowly, turning to look at me. The curvy, bluish shadows around us reflecting a little in his eyes. "True. Ever since we were like, tiny little kids. Remember you laughed at me when I said that I could read minds."

I try to pin back a little smile from coming out—but it won't relent. "I did not laugh."

"Yes you did."

"Well whatever—it was ridiculous, you have to admit." I give him a look. "I'm a girl of logic. I don't believe in psychics."

"What isn't logical about reading minds?" he asks, keeping his gaze on mine, though I'm looking out somewhere in the Milky Way.

I shrug. "I don't know." Then I bring my focus back down to earth. "Can you still read minds?"

Joe smirks a little—not fully serious. "Of course."

I let a modest smile out onto my lips, turning fully to face him and letting his blue eyes lock into mine. Feeling a few silent seconds effortlessly slip away. The smallness of the muted, moonlit space between our faces not really registering with me yet. My voice, when it eventually does come, sounds soft and wandering. "…Can you read my mind?"

Joe doesn't reply at first, his eyes searching my face for a moment—a shy, sensitive expression. One I hardly know how to read.

Then he snaps out of his momentary daze, looking away and breaking a slight smile. "You're making it really hard to concentrate, you know."

"Oh—well I'm sorry," I turn my attention back up to the stars, feeling his gaze brush across my cheek a moment later.

Now the moon has dragged herself out onto stage—weeping foggy bluish light down on us, making everything look smoky and Polaroid. Somehow.

And it's the next heartbeat that strikes me with a totally forward notion that I dare to actually speak of.

"Joe?"

"Hm?"

"…Have you ever danced in the moonlight with anyone?"

I can tell that the question strikes him as kind of a strange one. And it is strange. Obviously bred from feverish late night delirium. But I ask him anyway, and don't regret it.

Joe smiles a little, slightly amused. "No, I haven't."

"Really?"

He nods slowly. "Have you?"

"No, but I've kind of always wanted to."

Again, a nod. This time a few seconds before he speaks. "…Well I've kind of always wanted to surf at night."

Then a silence embeds itself in this moment until I decide to break it. "That was supposed to be your cue to ask me." Maybe I should feel awkward pointing this out—but I don't.

"Oh?" Joe turns to face me, a ghost of a smile finding its way to his face. "Alright, Miss Drew," his warm hand falls into mine—finding his place in the spaces between my fingers. "but I should warn you—dancing isn't really my forte." he stands up, and so do I, following his rather sloppy lead.

"Mhmm," I murmur, pulling him out into the dull, indistinct spotlight that the moon has gradually become. "I doubt that."

He lets his free hand gently find its way to my side. "No I'm serious."

"Modest,"

"Serious." if it weren't for the vague shadows in this place I could swear I catch him blushing a little at this point.

I smile a little in spite of myself, letting my hand rest against his shoulder. "Uh-huh. Prove it."

"Come on, I'm trying my best not to step on your toes, here."

So I step on his. Just for fun. And to make some little statement.

"Ow—what was that for?"

"I guess dancing isn't really my forte, either." I look up into his face with a fragment of a teasing smile.

"Oh like I'd believe it coming from you," Joe tosses a glance away. "You've probably danced with hundreds of guys before."

"Maybe," I shrug one shoulder. "but haven't you danced with lots of girls?"

"Possibly on missions—but not like.. for fun."

I smile a little, starting to notice the slight shakiness in his hand wrapped up with mine. "Well I rarely dance for fun,"

"Define rarely." He pries, teasingly I think, but so dry I can barely tell.

"This would be the first time."

"Really?" Joe's eyebrows raise slightly—almost like he's sort of surprised for a split second there. Then he drops his gaze from mine, like if my eye-contact is starting to stumble into his brain. He finally gets the rhythm of it and falls into step with me, lifting his gaze to look back down into my eyes through the foggy, dim light. "Why did you always want to dance in the moonlight anyway?"

I shrug, not replying directly and instead deciding to confuse him with a question. "Why did you always want to go surfing at night?"

Joe thinks about it for a second before saying anything. "…I don't know—just because it's one of those things that you can do and feel like… I don't know, it sounds so cliché, but just feel… free. Like a place you can go and just be quiet and listen and realize that this is so perfect…" Joe finally turns back to me, searching my expression with his eyes. "You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," I nod slowly, starting to feel less of the damp under my feet and more of the warmth of his hand in mine. "Yeah I know exactly what you mean,"

His gaze magnets back to mine—the look in his eyes deep and unreadable.

After a few moments I pull my voice out again. "..I wish I could read minds, too—I wish I knew that look."

He doesn't lose his eye-contact with me yet—which is rare, for him—and instead lets his gaze feel across my face. "I just… never mind it," He shakes his head slowly, his voice taking on an even softer, barely-audible tone. "We shouldn't talk about it."

I feel the space between my eyebrows close up a little. "No, tell me. Please."

"I just want you to know that.." Joe starts off, obviously finding it difficult to get the words. "I want to tell you how.. sorry I am for everything,"

"Everything?" My eyebrows raise at this wild claim of masochism. "Joe, it wasn't your fault."

"I don't mean just this situation—I mean everything I said and did. I regret it every day, Nancy."

I don't say anything in reply yet—finding my voice has left me ungraciously.

"All those times that I lied to you about what was going inside my head. And all those times that we argued and you couldn't understand why I didn't talk to you about it. So I left you wondering instead of trying to make things easier." I hear him pull in a shaky breath, not really registering anything but his eyes in the dull shafts of moonlight—his eyes which read back and forth into mine. "I know that it hurt you—and I'm sorry."

"Don't be—please," I finally recover my voice, though it comes out a little damaged sounding. "I understand now, Joe." I pause to take a breath, realizing that we've come to a complete stop in the middle of the dull wash of light under the mine shaft. "That's.. all that matters, right?"

Joe doesn't reply directly to that—instead he glances down, picking up his thoughts and letting them out in words I can barely hear him speak. "A few nights before we got here, Frank tried to talk to me—to get me to tell him what was going on. He knew I was lying because of the bruises—but he didn't understand why I was lying." he pauses to take a breath, still not meeting my eyes again. "So it turned into an messy argument and I was the one to leave like a total loser. I was such a jerk to him—even the next day when he tried to apologize."

I drag in a small breath, not saying anything yet. Waiting for him to finish.

"I guess I've been thinking about that a lot… how that might've been the last chance I had to talk to him and.. I totally blew it." he doesn't look up when he says it, but I can almost hear his voice bleeding—and I know that it saws at him deep. "And now, if I never see him again…"

"Joe." I let my hand slip off his shoulder and reach up, gently lifting his head to look back into my eyes. "Joe, you can't think like that. You can't.. say things like that."

"Why not?" his voice barely above a whisper. The foggy light playing in his eyes. "It's just the truth, isn't it?"

"No, it's not."

"Nancy, I tried. I wanted to be optimistic for your sake—and I seriously thought that there might be a way out of here," he pauses for a second to swallow what must be lead. "but I'm starting to see things as they are, now—"

"No." I whisper numbly, shaking my head—feeling an ache starting to worm its way up into my chest again. "Please don't say anything more. You can't give up."

"Nancy—"

"Joe don't you realize?" my voice breaks when it comes out, but my eyes still protest dampening. "…Don't you realize that you're the only reason I have to hope? You're the only thing that's keeping me sane…" I steal a much-needed breath, which is beginning to escape me rapidly as my heartbeat accelerates. "You're the only thing that's keeping me alive."

For a split second it's like my words barricade whatever Joe's next sentence was going to be. He freezes, letting his gaze trace down through my face and into my eyes again, before giving a slow, paralyzed nod. His voice in the tone of a whisper that I've never heard from him before. "Ditto." A short, muted pause. "But Nance… we can't last like this forever."

I look up into his eyes—which seem to be the only thing visible to me in this quiet moonlit space—and I vaguely start to become aware that my hand is still hovering somewhere around his collar. Some kind of sensual feeling reaching back into my fingertips—tangling a little in his blonde hair.

"Why can't we?" I feel the words pulled out of me. "Why can't we just be like the stars—breathing and living out there in the dead vacuum of space, existing off their own heartbeats… and each other's distant company and sight and sound. Why can't we be like them?"

Joe shakes his head slowly. "Because we're not stars—we never will be." he lets his left hand find its way out of mine, reaching up to gently draw a loose strand of hair away from my eyes. "Believe me, Nance—I don't want to die here,"

"I don't want to either—" I let my eyelids fall shut for a second. "—and I don't want you to give up on me. I don't ever want you to die on me." I pause for a split second for another breath—hoping the beating of my heart is only this loud inside my own head. Feeling nothing but the darkness and the warmth of his hand resting on my shoulder. And the ends of his hair against my fingertips.

"Promise me you won't," I breathe, opening up my eyes again. "don't say that you can't. Just promise me you'll never die. Please."

Joe studies my face for a moment before saying anything—eyes overwhelmed and blue and feeling somehow nearer than before. "I promise you I'll never die."

I try to swallow back my aching heart, eyes feeling the burn again and forcing me to close them for a few heartbeats that last forever. "… Say it again."

"I promise you I'll never die." his voice comes out so soft this time, I'm surprised I can even hear it. "I promise you… I'll never die."

My eyelids ease open at this point, and I suddenly become aware of the space separating our silhouettes in the moonlight. The space made up of the breath from two pairs of lungs, clouding in the damp cold. The space that actually, after a moment, starts to close.

And for a split second everything freezes. Including my heart.

Then I pull back a little. Feeling like I just broke something—something more than a delusional trance. And breathe out. And look up. And manage to swallow my heart back down my throat and speak after a moment of recovery. "I-I'm sorry, Joe, I…." pulling my hand off his shoulder, I let it softly close over his, which has slipped halfway down my right arm. "I just… I can't—.." I give up on words, letting out a quiet sigh instead.

He drops his hand from my arm, sending something of a slight chill through me as his warm touch breaks away from mine. "I understand," he nods quickly, the look in his eyes broken.

"Really?" the word comes rushing out through my shaky breath—my heart still going ballistic in the back of my head.

"Yeah," Joe nods again—this time slower, taking my hand in his and letting our fingers lock one more time. "Don't worry about any of this, Nance. It'll be alright." he whispers, breath clouding in the moonlight.

I nod slowly, feeling numb.

"You should get some sleep." his voice comes again. Whispered.

"You're right…" I swallow, managing to calm my heart enough to get the words out sounding normal and not feverish.

He lets his warm hand slip out of my small, shaking one. I take one tired step backwards, out of the fading circle of bluish moonlight.

Joe runs his fingers through his blonde hair. Turning away and dropping his gaze. I take a few numb, achy steps in the other direction. Finally pausing after a few moments when I find my voice's hiding place—not turning to face him when I do speak, but instead letting my words echo around in the mine and reach him indirectly.

"…Are you okay, Joe?"

"Of course." his reply comes after only a split second's delay. "…Are you?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah…. yeah I'm fine." and I let myself lay back down against the cold dampness—my head resting numbly against my backpack and closing my eyes.

I feel so torn inside. I want to cry.

But I don't.


	35. Chapter 35

**chapter thirty-five. joe hardy. all we ever do.**

"Promise me you won't. Don't say that you can't. Just promise me you'll never die. Please." her words come out sounding heavy—drained and quiet.

I look down at her for a few seconds before saying anything—her eyes are so desperate and blue and close. "I promise you I'll never die."

She lets out a short, pained breath, closing her eyes. "… Say it again."

"I promise you I'll never die." my voice comes out so soft—not even sounding like it belongs to me. "I promise you… I'll never die."

Nancy opens her eyes again, wide and blue and sparkling the moonlight. And then it starts to register that the gap between our silhouetted faces is slowly, numbly closing itself. And for a split second, I think I stop breathing. And stop worrying about her hearing my incredibly loud heartbeat slamming around inside my chest and the back of my head.

For a split second, everything pauses. And there's just the quiet. And the warmth of her breath softly reaching my face. And something that smells like vanilla. And the moonlight weaving through her hair and across her skin and into her eyes.

Then she breaks the delusional trance—and possibly even my heart a little bit—pulling away and putting a few more solid inches between us.

And I feel sort of weird about it. Awkward, or something. Reason escapes me at the moment and I have no idea what to say or do.

Nancy speaks first though, glancing back up into my eyes. "I-I'm sorry, Joe, I…." she closes her hand over mine. "I just… I can't—.." she sighs.

So I force myself to break the touch, even though it hurts to. "I understand,"

"Really?" she asks through a shaky breath.

"Yeah," I nod slowly, reaching out and wrapping her hand up in mine again, feeling like my heart will blow up if I don't hold onto her somehow. "Don't worry about any of this, Nance. It'll be alright." I whisper.

She nods in reply.

"You should get some sleep." I force the words out into the moonlight.

"You're right…" her fingers lax, getting ready to leave mine.

"No, actually I'm not, Nancy," I wrap my other hand around hers before she can break away. "I'm wrong. You don't need to sleep—all we ever do is sleep,"

"What?" she raises one eyebrow, looking totally weirded out. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know," I shake my head slowly, reaching up to run my fingers through her soft, moonlit hair—something I've always kind of wanted to do ever since I first met her. "I think I'm going insane… probably."

She smiles a little—one of those mildly amused smiles that makes it hard to figure out what she's thinking. "I thought you just said that I was the one that's keeping you sane."

I shake my head slowly, getting way too distracted by the way the soft, bluish light is reflecting in her eyes. "No, actually—it's the other way around." I let my hand fall down her arm a little, feeling myself being pulled closer by some unseen force—like if I'm not even controlling my own body. "You're actually what is driving me insane…"

And that's the last either of us say. Because that's when the space between us kills itself—or actually, I think I kill it. I don't know who really commits the crime but it doesn't matter because the whole world and everything in it freezes in that moment, as our silhouetted faces become one thing in the dark and our lips start to touch—

"Joe, are you awake?"

Boom. Back to the cognitive. The here and now.

"Joe?" Nancy's voice, and then her hand—warm and smelling like vanilla—gently shaking my arm. "Come on, wake up."

I open my eyes a little, trying to ignore the acute ache in the back of my head where it feels like a jagged rock must've been stabbing me all night.

It's morning. Make that _really_ early in the morning. Before legit light starts to come down into the mine. Still that bluish, dusty look. New day. New dawn. I have a lot to be grateful for. Sure, I feel like crap—I'm starving and tired and so unbelievably weak. But I still have air in my lungs and I'm alive. So that's something.

I look up to Nancy. Her expectant gaze, waiting for my response.

"….Hi."

She smiles a little—yes, actually smiles—at my dumb-sounding good morning. A smile that I haven't seen her wear in a long time.

"Hi yourself. Who's driving you insane?" she asks with a little smirk.

"What?"

"You were just talking in your sleep—you said that someone was driving you insane."

I let my hands fall over my face, feeling my ears going slightly red. "Oh yeah? And.. what else did I say?"

Nancy smiles and rolls her eyes—I can see it through the cracks between my fingers. "You said all you do is sleep, or something."

 _Dang!_ It was just a dream. Just a way-too-realistic dream. At least, I think it was. I mean… did that really happen last night? Did we really dance in the moonlight and talk about that stuff? Did I really promise her that I'd never die? Still, I didn't say what I should've said. Why didn't it happen differently? Why couldn't it. Man, what is wrong with me? I mean, seriously. _Get a grip._

"Yeah you're right. I was just dreaming." I drop my hands, looking up at her face.

"Mmhm." she tilts her head to the side. "What were you dreaming about?"

I shrug one shoulder. One sore shoulder. "Just.. a bunch of crazy stuff that would never really happen."

Nancy nods, "Yeah, I had a bunch of weird dreams like that last night, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah... Okay so listen—I didn't want to wake you up, but I have an idea," she throws me an excited look, "That is, an idea of how we might be able to escape."

That of course gets me wide awake in a split second. I sit up, messing my hands through my hair. "Are you serious?"

"I don't know—it might be totally insane or not even worth trying,"

I shake my head quickly. "Anything is worth trying at this point… and nothing is too insane for me, remember?"

"Yeah," she glances back up to me. Little smile. "I remember."

A pause. Then I clear my throat and break my gaze by looking down slightly. "Um, so, what is it?"

"Well," Nancy takes a breath before beginning, rising to her feet and crossing the room halfway. "I was thinking about this wall for a long while—it has water behind it, obviously, being contained in some kind of a cavity thing, like we read in that letter from Jake Hurley. And then, there's this room—which is actually the lowest level of the mine. Without an elevator we can't reach the opening to the level above us…." she pauses for a second, turning to throw me a glance. I think I'm starting to see where she's going with this. "So what if we purposely tried to get some of that water to break through the wall and flood the mine."

I'll admit—it is kind of brilliant. And for a second I can't believe I didn't think of it before. "So you're saying that if we could flood this level of the mine enough, we could swim up to the next level and escape?"

Nancy nods slowly. "All we'd have to do is bust a slightly bigger hole where this water is already leaking out," she motions towards the wall with one hand. And I notice how the leak has started forming a small pool on the ground.

I get to my feet, going through all the possible scenarios in my head. "And then we'd just wait? And let the place fill up,"

Nancy nods slowly—a little unsure, I can tell. "Yeah. Unless that's like totally freaking nuts."

"No, I don't think so—it's the best escape plan we've had so far," I cross the room and stop in front of the wall—or rather, in front of the puddle in front of the wall. "But do you think you'll be able to stand the cold? I mean, this water is freaking freezing."

"Well it was probably ice a few short days ago," she sighs the words. "I don't know. I think I could… if you could."

"Of course I could." I straighten up a little, turning to face her. "If you could."

She breaks a little smile. "So you think it's a good idea?"

I nod. "Yeah—I think it's pretty brilliant, actually. Because there's no other leaks or weak spots in this room, there's no way the water could get out anywhere else. The only thing we don't know is how much water is on the other side of this wall. Do you think it's enough to flood the mine up to the level we need to reach?"

Nancy bites her lip, letting her gaze trail before replying. "I have no idea—is that a risk we're willing to take?"

"I don't think we have a choice, to be honest." I shrug one shoulder. "If we don't start taking some risks, we're never going to get out of here."

She thinks about this for a moment before nodding slowly. "You're right,"

I go back to our packs on the floor to get something hard to break open the wall with—like that anchor. Finding it after barely searching and returning to the wall where Nancy is still thinking everything over.

"So, do you want me to smash it open or do you want to?"

She glances over at me for a few seconds before replying. "…You go ahead. That way if anything goes wrong, I can say that it was your fault."

"Oh thank you," I manage to laugh, flicking the hair out of my eyes. "But remember it was your idea."

"I'm just joking. Kind of." she shrugs, "I would never blame you—not for something that was my idea."

I nod slowly, not really knowing what else to say, so I step into the pooling water which soaks freezing cold up to my ankles. "Well, Nance.. if anything does go wrong, just know that I…" I suddenly realize what I'm letting come out of my mouth so naturally and freeze in mid-sentence. Because I suddenly get cold feet—in more ways than one, actually—and decide that I can't go there. I decide to just ignore Nancy's expectant stare drilling into my peripheral vision and not finish.

"Just know what?" she asks slowly after a second.

"It's just…" I shake my head quickly, trying to focus. "It's nothing. Really." and I shrug. "It's not important."

 _Yeah it is, you idiot._

"No, wait!" she jumps forward, getting her feet wet, too—grabbing my arm to stop me. Forcing me to lock up to her eyes. Blue. "I want to know what you were going to say."

I shake my head numbly. "Maybe some other time,"

"Right now works for me. What if you forget?"

I almost want to smile—and I totally would in other circumstances. "…Believe me. I won't forget it."

She pushes her eyebrows together slightly—obviously not too satisfied with that answer. But after a few seconds she drops the topic along with my arm and takes a step back out of the puddle.

 _What if this whole mine-flooding thing isn't a good idea? What if it's fatal? What if you die? You'll never be able to tell her._

I ignore my rebel subconscious—ignore everything—and take the anchor in my hands and slam it into that deep crack right there in the rock wall and it smashes open to a softball-sized hole that starts gushing out water—flipping freezing water—faster than I'd anticipated.

"Whoa!" Nancy jumps back from the wall. "That is cold."

"Get used to it," I drop the anchor, taking a step back as the pool of water at my feet starts rising—totally drenching my converse.

Nancy bolts back across the room to grab her stuff and start shoving it all into her backpack. And I just wait for a few more seconds. Feeling like I should be glad that we've found a way to possibly escape—but unable to shake the deep-seated lead weight of dread sinking into my gut.

I just have a really bad feeling about this. I wish I didn't—I wish I could just kick myself and shake it off. But I can't.

"Come on, Joe—help me get this stuff together!" Nancy calls to me, panic finding its way into her voice.

"Sorry—I'm coming." I snap out of my slight daze and back away from the wall—just as another crack eats down through the rock and with a deafening scream, busts open half of the wall, unleashing the freezing cold water a hundred times faster.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _Thank you so much for your comment! EEEP I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKED THAT CHAPTER. It's definitely one of my favorite scenes in this whole AE so yes :''') That means a lot to me. Oh yes I can definitely imagine that Joe is good at dancing...maybe he is pretending to be modest here... ;) hahaha. I hope you like this chapter and thank you again for reading!_


	36. Chapter 36

**chapter thirty-six. frank hardy. when things get ugly.**

The heavy door to Jake's car slams behind me, colliding with the silence. I turn and step into the low-lit office. And there he is—at the far end of the room, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk. Reading something of probably no significance or interest. He doesn't seem to notice my entrance, so I clear my throat in the quiet to get his attention.

"Oh, hey—so someone finally found you, huh?"

"I was never lost, actually," I run my fingers through my messy hair. "I was just waiting around for you guys to show up."

He glances up for more than a few seconds, taking his feet off the desk. And closing the book. "Oh I see." that's the last he says for a minute, just kind of studying my expression. "…So, I guess you're probably wondering where your brother and Nancy Drew are,"

"No actually. I already know. They're back at the mine." I force my voice out, emotionless. Calculating the best way to corner this coward once and for all.

"Oh yeah? Who told you?" there's something about the way he says it—gaze unflinching, still monitoring my expression.

"Lori."

He scoffs something like a dry laugh, looking down at the book under his hands. "Lori's been… quite the case, lately."

"Yeah," I nod slowly. "I've become aware of that."

Tino glances back up—trying to read my face. My excellent poker face. It's impossible, bro.

"She isn't seeing anyone. She isn't talking to anyone." he shrugs, acting clueless. "She's just been totally ballistic over nothing."

"I'm surprised you didn't do anything to help her—seeing as you seemed to care about her once,"

His expression turns confused. "What are you talking about? We all tried to help her." he laughs. "It's not that easy when she won't even tell anyone why she's so hysterical. Like I said, she doesn't talk to anyone."

"She talks to me." my words hit the quiet, and you would think I just said something important. Because he kind of freezes up and just looks at me, like he wants to kill me. But he doesn't say anything. So I fill the empty space.

"She's really upset."

"Lori's nothing but a stupid little blonde actress. She exaggerates or makes everything up all the time." Tino laughs slightly when he says this—like if the whole idea of her is a joke to him. "Yeah, I might've been dumb enough to like her at one time, but I thankfully realized what a waste of time she is and decided to back off—and as a word to the wise? I'd advise you to do the same."

 _You ripping jerk._ Sure, Lori might not be a rocket surgeon, but she's definitely not a waste of time. And anybody who disses her like this guy just did deserves something like a kick in the face. But I don't give it to him. Not yet, anyway.

"Lori doesn't trust you—"

"Do I care?" he scoffs, looking amused. And ticking me off.

"You should. She doesn't trust you because you lied to her about Joe and Nancy. She knows their dead. She knows that _you_ killed them." I bring my voice down, leaning against my hands on the edge of the desk. "Is that true? Or is that just one of those "exaggerated or made up" circumstances you were just talking about?"

Boom. Silence.

"….She had no right to spread false information like that,"

"False information? So you're denying it then,"

"I _said_ that Lori doesn't have any right—"

"Well legally she actually does," I state matter-of-factly, annoying him with my self-assurance and cool. "but that's not even the point—Lori has nothing to do with this."

"What is the point, then?"

"The point is Joe and Nancy." I want to scream it, but keep my cool. "Lori told me about what happened—and I believe her. She told me that you lied to her about Joe having his phone. You said something else, too. You slipped up." I shake my head slowly. "And you thought she was too dumb to notice—too dumb to see it."

"I did not slip up, I didn't say anything to her—"

"What did you say to her, then?"

He freezes up, lost. "…I can't remember, okay?"

"Well _she_ remembers," I take my hands off the desk, straightening up. "She told me everything you said."

Tino looks at me for a long time before speaking again. Like if he has no idea what to say. "You're right. She remembers it all, I'm sure. I told her the truth—I told everyone the truth. I told them that Nancy and your brother are back at the mine. And that they wanted us to come back here, to Copper Gorge and get you to go and check out the mine with them."

"I don't care what you told them. I want you to tell me what really happened back there. I have a right to know. As Joe's brother, if nothing else."

"What are you talking about?"

I don't reply yet. I just let the silence kill us both for a few seconds. I just let him look at me like that for a few seconds. Reading his expression—guilty.

"How did you kill them." Emotionless. And good at it. And ticking him off. I can tell.

"Why are you so set on this, Hardy?" he folds his hands unfeelingly on the desk. "Framing a person for murder is serious business."

I nod stiffly. "And murder itself is even more serious."

"And _I_ didn't murder them!" he stands up to get at eye level with me, his voice echoing through the room for a second. I just stare at him, letting the way he said that sink in—how he stressed the 'I'.

" _You_ didn't…?" I take one cautious step forward. " _You_ didn't murder them? Is that your response? Or do you want to rephrase that?"

Silence.

"Tino," my voice comes out not even sounding like it belongs to me. "Is my brother dead? Is Nancy dead?"

A short pause. That I can't stand.

"I said, are they dead?" I repeat, willing myself to not explode.

Tino nods slowly. "Unfortunately, yes."

"And yet, you didn't kill them." I pause. "You wanna tell me how _that works?_ "

He just stares at me for a few seconds with a look that I can't read, finally speaking in a unfeeling tone and blowing my mind.

"There was a collapse."

I feel like my heart will explode if I don't let out the words, "Are you frickin _serious?_ " I blow up. "How can you just make up all this stuff? How can you hide your hands behind your back and think that nobody will notice the blood dripping from them? Do you seriously think you can bullshit your way out of this?" I shake my head slowly. "Yeah, you may a good liar, Tino—but not good enough."

Then he slams something down on the desk under his hand with a thud—heavy metal against wood. It's a suppressed pistol. I look back up to him.

"Not good enough?" he forces a sick half-smile, lowering his voice. "Now that's unfortunate…. isn't it?" he slowly shakes his head. "'Cause I can get rid of you in a second. Just like I got rid of _them._ "

Bam. That's it. I can't take anymore. I totally lose all control of my mind and my emotions and my hands—more specifically my right hand which has been aching to fist this whole time.

I punch him. Right in the jaw. He reels backwards a few steps, swearing and letting one hand fly to his face.

Something in my subconscious tells me to run, but I don't. Instead I jump a step forward and land one hand down on the desk, grabbing the unmanned pistol. I pull back, but not fast enough. He grabs my wrist, twisting it backwards and ripping the gun out of my hand. He locks one cold, muscley hand down on my shoulder and drags me backwards, then slams me against the wall. I struggle to knock him off, but fail.

My heart almost stops beating as he shoves the barrel of the gun up against my chest.

"You started this, Hardy. Now things will get ugly."

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _EEEP I'm so happy you liked that last chapter! :) Joe's dream was fun to write...I hope it wasn't too confusing lol. Oh don't worry, I ship Joe and Nancy sooo hard too. 3 They're just perfection. Can't wait to see what you think of this chapter!_


	37. Chapter 37

**chapter thirty-seven. nancy drew. even if it's hard.**

The wall pretty much explodes, unleashing water at an alarming rate flooding everything and almost throwing me against the wall. _COLD COLD COLD_ wet instantly up to my knees and quickly rising.

"What did you just do?!" I almost scream, whipping around to face Joe, who has backed away from the wall.

"I didn't do anything!"

I grab my backpack and search around for Joe's. "Joe, where is your stuff?"

"I have it right here—now come on," Joe takes my arm and pulls me closer to the mine shaft.

This level is filling up fast—the water is already three feet deep, and it is so freezing—I'm actually starting to lose feeling in my toes.

"Are you okay?"

I manage to nod a little. Trying not to shiver so violently even though my blood feels like it's turning to ice.

"God, Joe—it's so cold."

"I know—just hold on, okay? It won't be long." he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight which kind of wards off a little bit of the cold for a few seconds. I breathe deep and try to calm my mind. "Everything's going to be fine—we're going to make it."

I pull away just an inch or so, to look up into his eyes. "Do really believe that?"

He reads my face for a moment before replying—sounding so soft and unsure, I can barely hear his voice over the rushing of the water. "I don't know,"

"Well, start believing it. Because we _are_ going to make it." I suck in a breath as the cold starts suffocating my body in a freezing kind of coma, locking up my muscles which do not feel like swimming right now.

The water is probably six feet, now. My feet have left the ground—kicking numbly, still no feeling.

Seven feet. I kick my feet harder, trying to get some blood and some feeling to come back into my arms and legs, which have gone totally numb at this point.

"Can you see how far up the next level is?" I shout to Joe over the noise.

"Like seven feet, probably!" he struggles to see up through the mine shaft in the dull pre-dawn light. "You okay?"

I nod quickly. "Yeah, but I can't feel anything,"

"Just hold on, okay? There might be some footholds coming up on your side—like four feet up,"

I manage to give a nod of acknowledgement, but nothing else. Everything inside feels too numb and cold to move or breathe—never mind talk. I'd be surprised if my body temperature hasn't already dropped a degree or two.

Nine feet now. At the very most. The ceiling of the lowest level is almost completely sealed up with water, pushing us up into the empty mine shaft—which fills up twice as fast.

Ten feet. Eleven.

I pull myself around to face the wall, searching its craggy, damp surface for any decent foothold I can get my hands on. "Where were those footholds you saw, Joe?"

"Look up—to your left!" he tells me, "Can you grab onto something like that?"

"I don't know.." I squint up at the bungled surface of the wall, not really thinking much of what I'm seeing here. "I can try, though."

Thirteen feet of water, now—and rising just as fast, if not faster. Not like that's even possible. Everything is all dark and cold and wet, black swelling water. Numb hands and feet.

I can barely feel my cramped fingers lock around the foothold in the wall—it's scratchy and slippery. I try to pull myself up but fail. One more foot of water is all I need to be able to reach up and get my hands over the edge of the next floor—it's that close. So I tread water and wait a few more seconds, gauging my next move.

Now there's about a three foot gap between the water level and the next floor. I pop up and latch my hands over the rough edge—hanging on tight and pulling myself up out of the water, getting my elbows up onto the edge.

Finally, I can breathe as I start feeling around frantically for a place to get my feet hooked onto the wall without slipping. Then I feel a strong hand close around my right ankle and guide it over to a foothold.

"Thanks Joe!" I thrust my toes inside and push up, managing to execute a messy, desperate climb up over the edge, collapsing on the ground above, totally gasping for air.

 _Oh my gosh, is this for real? Are we actually going to make it?!_

"Joe—grab onto my hand!" I crawl to my sopping knees, reaching down over the edge to him.

"Are you kidding me?" Joe shakes his head. "Get out of here—you can't pull me up,"

"DO AS I SAY!"

The last thing I feel is his cold, shaky hand lock into mine—then it all ends. Because that's when I hear something—almost like an earthquake, but not. It comes sounding barely audible at first, then breaks with a deafening crash. Not the kind of crash like two forces colliding, but more like a suctioning, screaming explosion. Like the sound a star would make when it supernovas. And that's when the earth caves out underneath the mine shaft, sucking out all the water with it. For a few seconds I have no idea what's going on, but then the water starts receding—rapidly. Emptying down like a whirlpool into the dark earth below us—and trying to pull Joe down with it.

I scream, feeling myself being pulled closer to the edge. Joe lets go of my hand—but I don't let go of his. Instead, I hold on tighter.

"Nancy, let go!" he shouts up to me, managing to cling to the wall, finding some kind of a lousy foothold—most of his weight still in my hand. Two feet down, at my full arm's length.

"What is going on, Joe?" I scream back, barely able to get my voice over the deafening rush of the water being violently sucked down out of the mine.

"I don't know—it has to be some kind of a sinkhole—because of the mine!" his cold hand starts to slip out of mine. "Nance, you have to let go!"

"Are you _kidding me_? I can't!" Starting to inch further towards the edge. Digging my toes into the ground. "You'll fall!"

"It doesn't matter, Nancy!" he looks up to me, finally—blue eyes desperate. I pull my gaze off his to the receding black pool of water below—way below. I mean down to like, five or six feet above the floor—which has caved in, swallowing up everything like a hungry black hole.

"It does matter! You're insane!" I scream back, slipping another few inches. "That's like a fifteen foot drop already!"

"You have to let go, Nance—"

"No, I'm not going to!"

"You have to!" his voice comes out sounding more severe than ever. Eyes filled with something more than desperation now—something that I can't read. "I can hold onto the wall on my own. If you don't let go, you'll fall too!"

"I don't care! You can't hold on—"

"Well you can't pull me up!"

"I know," my voice comes out in a broken sob—eyes starting to burn a little. "I know I can't, but I don't want you to fall."

"I'm not going to fall—I'll be fine!" he looks up into my eyes. "Can't you just trust me?"

I pull in a shaky breath, swallowing the ache in my chest. "…Yes. I can. I will." And I let go. Just like that.

He slips a little, but manages to hold on—not very well. "Thank you," he breathes, letting his forehead rest against the craggy wall for a moment while he catches his breath. "Now get out of here."

"What?" I feel my eyes widen and my heart try to stop beating for a second.

"You have to go, Nancy—go get help,"

"Get help where? There's nothing for miles."

"I don't care! Just get out of here,"

I shake my head quickly, feeling the tears pressing hard at the back of my eyes. "No! I can't leave you.. you'll fall—and—and I won't be able to get help fast enough."

"Don't worry about me, okay? You can't think about me. _You can't_." he fixes his hold on the wall again, looking up into my eyes. Blue. "Just go—run. Get out of here."

"Who do you think I am, Joe?" the tears start breaking out, now—streaking down my face. I fall to the edge, reaching down to close my hand around his again. "I won't go."

"You have to," he pulls his fingers through my own trembling ones. "Please Nancy—if you care about me—would you do something for me? Even if it's hard?"

I nod slowly, unable to see past my tears at this point. "I'd do anything for you, Joe—"

"I'm asking you to leave, Nance—please. For me. Just get out of here—and don't look back. Just run. And don't stop running until you get help."

"But what if it's too late—"

"Then it's too late," he cuts me off. "Listen to me. You can't stay here and risk getting killed, too. You can't because—Nancy, you mean everything to me." I barely feel him press a kiss into the back of my hand, before letting go of it entirely. "Now go. Go get help—run!"

And I do. I grab my soaking wet backpack from the ground and I tear around and start running. Tripping through the darkness of the tunnels—leaving that echoing rushing growl of water back there. Leaving Joe back there.

I don't even fumble around through my backpack for a flashlight. Instead I just stumble my way through the damp, blackened tunnels, not sure of what direction I'm going and if it's even the right way. But finally I see a glimpse of a crack of daylight—foggy bluish pre-dawn light leaking in from the entrance of the mine.

I push some of the tears out of my face with my dirty, scratched hands, climbing up the boulders to get to the narrow escape—finally slipping out and into the milky blue wash of day. Tripping down the side of the rocks and hitting the dusty ground, breaking into a full sprint—which requires every ounce of strength I have left.

The world around me is dull and shaky and hard to distinguish—the cold biting at me. Freezing wet. But I run anyway, in my sopping, beaten shoes. I run hard. Trying to focus on the air coming in and out of my lungs so I don't suffocate myself on my own tears and broken sobs. So I don't focus on my heart which is aching and slowly breaking itself to death.

Train tracks. I stop for only two seconds, throwing a panicked, delirious look both ways. Having no idea where to run. I can't remember which direction the train went to get back to Copper Gorge—so I randomly choose the left and start running. Harder and faster than I knew my legs could endure. Heartbeat punching the back of my head.

How could I leave Joe back there like that? How could I possibly ever leave him? How could I escape, then leave him there to fall. To die.

He's done everything for me. Everything. Things I could never have even dreamed about someone enduring for my sake. He was beaten and blackmailed for me. He suffered through being pushed and shoved and cornered and kicked and threatened by Tino Balducci, for my sake. So I wouldn't get hurt. So I wouldn't die.

How could I leave him when he's done so much for me? When he tried to stop me from going to this mine in the first place—because he knew the trap we were walking into, but I didn't trust him. And he came with me anyway. When he tried so hard to keep me from any danger. When he tried to get into that elevator before me, because he knew someone was going to get killed and he didn't want it to be me. When we were almost killed, how he picked me up and shielded me from the fall—taking the worst of it himself. When we were trapped, how he kept me warm and gave me his coat. How he talked to me. How he kept me sane—kept me believing. How he watched the stars and danced in the moonlight with me. How he made sure I escaped the flooding mine first. How he told me to let go of him and forget about him and let him fall. How he kissed my hand and told me that I meant everything to him.

I stop running. So suddenly that it actually hurts—it sends my adrenaline-pumped body reeling, aching and hardly knowing how to breathe. And I just stand there for a few seconds in the cold blue morning, in the middle of the tracks.

I can't leave him. And I won't.

Then I turn around. And run the other way. I'm serious. At a full, insane sprint, I push myself to bleed out that last strain of energy and through the choked, gasping sobs and the tears and my aching, pounding heart, I finally make it back to the mine entrance. Stumbling through the boulders, up the face of the canyon like a girl possessed. Falling down through the entrance and being swallowed up by the darkness. I run hard and fast, tripping over things like rocks and dips in the tunnel floors—almost falling on my face a couple times—but not caring.

Finally, I see a light. That dull, bluish haze pushing down through the top of the mine shaft, where I was climbing up just moments ago. And I start to hear the sound of water—much quieter, now. My tears clear enough to see the end of the tunnel well enough—I run to it.

"Joe! Joe I'm back!" And I fall down to my knees at the edge. And look down.

And I feel something inside me curl up and die.

Because he's gone.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _Maybe — just maybe — Lori_ will _save the day! ;) EEEP sorry for the delay with this chapter! I'm going to try to post more often. There isn't much left of this story. Thank you so much for reading! 3_


	38. Chapter 38

**chapter thirty-eight. frank hardy. and then the world ends.**

"Why did you kill Joe and Nancy?"

"I _beg_ your pardon?" Tino presses the end of the pistol harder into my chest.

"I said, why did you kill them? A mine collapse wasn't really what happened. I want to know exactly what happened, Tino." I keep him distracted enough to discreetly slip my hand into my jeans pocket and pull out the small white device—flicking it on with my thumb. "I want to know exactly how they died. I have a right to know."

"You don't have a right to anything, Hardy. And you can't make me tell you anything—you can't make me do anything, do you understand?" he gets right in my face at this point, lowering his voice to just above a violent whisper. "You can't make me talk—your brother stepped on that ground once before, and look where it got him."

"Joe—? What did he do?"

"He tried framing me with some idiot accusations—the kid didn't even know what he was talking about, didn't even know how to present any evidence whatsoever. You call yourselves detectives?" he pauses here just to interject a disgusted laugh. "What a joke."

"So he tried to bust you huh? And what did you do."

"Don't play the innocent card with me, Hardy—don't act like you don't know about that night. Don't act like he didn't totally spill everything to you about the fight and everything that happened after that,"

"What fight? He didn't mention anything about that—he didn't even tell me that he talked to you," I feel my eyebrows pull together with confusion. "Why wouldn't he have told me?"

"Because I told him not to,"

"You told him not to? You mean you _threatened_ him not to?" a few seconds pause. "You blackmailed him?"

"Blackmailed him?" he actually laughs at this if you can believe it—one of those sick laughs. "No need to act so shocked. You knew about it this whole time—"

"That's a lie—I did not!"

"Yeah that's what your brother said when I found out that he blabbed to Nancy about how I switched the maps and sent everyone off course. And I'm sure he told her about everything else. That kid's such a loser—I'm surprised he's been able to stumble through missions this far," he shakes his head slowly, and I just stand here taking it all in. "Idiot, stand-alone imposter—doesn't even have an ID to back up his so-called PI standing with ATAC—"

"You say that like he's still alive."

Boom. You could hear a pin drop right here. Even on the carpet.

"…Is he still alive?"

"What other options did I have?" he growls, getting to the edge of his temper, "When he knew about everything, then he went and told Nancy about it? I don't think I had any other choice but to get them both out of the scene."

"Get them out of the scene? Is that how you see it?" my voice comes out sounding pretty freaked. "How many people have you gotten away with murdering just so you could "get them out of the scene"? How many—"

"I didn't say that I murdered them—did I?"

"You didn't deny it—"

"But I didn't admit it," he says through clinched teeth. "Did I?"

I swallow, shaking my head slowly. "…Why did you have to get them out of the scene? What did you have to gain by doing that?"

"I already told you—" he scoffs, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "the information they knew would get out eventually—about how this whole stupid thing went down. About all the unethical crap that happened and it would all be pinned on me."

"So that's why you killed them. Because you're running from everything you did wrong?" I shake my head slowly. "Because if the world found out what you did, it would be over for you—"

"And I'm afraid that it's _never_ over for me." at this point, the guy slams one hand down on my shoulder, nailing me hard against the wall.

I nod slowly, gravely. "It's over now."

"Oh yeah? And how's that possible, Hardy?" he smiles slightly. "I believe you're the one who's trapped right now—not me. The game is over. The case is closed."

"What about the case of who murdered the two teen detectives?"

He pauses for a second, before a demented smile twists back onto his face. "What about the case of who shot and killed Frank Hardy?" then he laughs—the mumbled, criminal kind—shaking his head slowly. "There are unsolved mysteries everywhere, my friend. And you're about to become one of them," he repositions the pistol at me, pulling back a little to get his finger poised over the trigger.

Yeah, my heart is slamming around inside my chest at this point—I mean, this guy isn't going to change his mind, so my escape plan better work or I'm dead. But I manage to force myself to stay emotionless.

"So you're going to kill me. Do I get any say in this?"

"No, actually," he smiles again—sick. "I try to make it a rule not to allow any last words on the part of the victim. It makes it so much easier for both of us, don't you think?"

"Tell me something first."

"Yeah."

"Where are they? Joe and Nancy I mean." I look up to get eye-contact again. "Where are they. _Exactly_."

It takes a few long seconds—and I start to think that I won't ever get a reply to that one. But then he finally speaks. "At Brimstone Canyon. But they're dead. And if they weren't dead when I left, then they're dead by now."

"If they weren't dead when you left? What does that mean?" I surmise, stalling my escape as much as I can to bleed out every ounce of information here.

"Death by elevator crash is a terrible thing, but death by starvation is a much slower, antagonizing way to go, don't you agree?"

"Death by starvation? That wasn't very long ago that you trapped them." I point out, trying to keep my abnormally-loud heartbeat under control. "They could still be alive,"

"The odds are very much against that, I'm afraid." he scoffs, laughing a little. "And even if they are still alive, what does it matter if nobody ever finds them?" he shakes his head slowly. "You're not going to find them, Hardy. Because you're not getting out of here. You're going _down_." he sets the trigger.

I nod slowly, forcing a half smile. "Go ahead," and that's when I hold up the device in my hand to let him see—the voice recorder which has been on this whole time. "Make my day."

Something like short-lived terror washes over his face for a second, but he quickly smoulders it with a twisted smile. "Oh, a voice recorder. I'm so scared."

"A voice recorder from ATAC which is programmed to instantly live stream back to several other devices, as well as hard drive memory at ATAC's headquarters. Everything you just said is on file right now. Undestroyable evidence."

And I thought I knew what blood draining from somebody's face looked like. Until now. He doesn't say anything in reply to that. Instead he just freezes for a few long, dead-silent seconds. I just stare at him, the voice recorder still on. His gun still pointed. And for a few short seconds, I actually start to think that maybe he's changing his mind. But then those few short seconds end. And he pulls the trigger.

But I knock the gun out of his hand first, slamming my shoe down on his foot to make him lose his grip. I'd anticipated his next move and that's what gets me out of it. The pistol still goes off, letting out a suppressed click, and nailing a bullet into the wall. Then it hits the ground spinning, landing in front of the desk.

At this point, Tino is knocked off guard enough for me to jump forward a few steps, giving him a hard shove and getting to the unmanned pistol before he can—kicking it under the desk and out of reach.

He staggers back a step, catching himself against the wall—his gaze flashing back up to mine. Shocked and pretty much ready to blow a fuse.

"Oh, I'm sorry—was that your only weapon?" I muster some kind of sarcasm, even though I'm freaking shaken up. "Every good detective should know to carry more than one form of defence."

"You bastard—"

"What are your options now, Tino?" I straighten up slightly, the recorder still going in my hand. "…It looks to me like running is the only option left at this point."

And bam. That's where it all ends. Because that's when the train car door is slammed open, and we both snap out of this deathly, intense silence as Lori Girard walks in, stopping in the doorway.

"Lori, I thought I told you to stay where you were!" my voice comes out sounding severe—and louder than I intended. She shouldn't be here. Things are going down and I really don't want her to get hurt.

"Oh so you've got her involved with this mess, too?" Tino throws me a look, straightening up.

"Involved in what mess?" Lori stays in the doorway—not moving an inch. Obviously freaked out. "What's going on, here? Frank?"

And then? Tino runs. I'm not kidding. The guy bolts for the door, obviously snapping up this opportunity to leave. Does he really think that he can get away?

I scramble behind the desk and grab the loaded gun from the floor and Tino makes it to the doorway.

"Get out of my way—!" he yells

"No I will not. Not until you tell me what's going on!" Lori demands, still bracing herself in the doorway—obviously determined and not planning on moving. I bolt to the end of the train car.

"I said, _get out of my way_!" he grabs her forcefully by both shoulders at this point, tearing her hands away from the door frame.

"Get your hands off of her, Tino!"

Lori screams as he throws her against the wall, then raises a hand to hit her. I jump forward, blocking the punch and nailing the pistol against Tino's back, forcing him out into the hallway. Lori screams again, probably seeing the gun, and dives into the couch.

And that's when Tino twists around and chops my wrist, forcing me to drop the pistol. It hits the floor. And I kick it away. Hopelessly out of weapons at this point, he grabs my shoulder again, locking it in a vice grip—then cracking it out of place. (which feels like total hell, by the way.) He throws a punch at my head—but I drop out of it before his fist can land, missing a concussion by mere inches.

I think fast—and stand back up, using my left hand to throw a neck-jab as hard as I can without losing control. He falls backwards, collapsing to the floor. Unconscious.

I pull myself up, breathing hard—tensing up. Just watching him for a minute to make sure he's really out of it. And he is. Totally out of it. Done. That blow will definitely last at least a good few minutes—which is all that I need.

I reach down and grab the gun from the floor, disengaging the trigger as I turn and stumble back through the doorway, trying to ignore my dislocated shoulder—which is pretty much impossible.

Lori is still curled up in a trembling, freaked-out ball on the couch, hiding behind an overstuffed pillow. I pull myself over there and set the gun down on the table, taking a seat on the couch beside her. I gently reach up to close one hand over hers, "Lori? Are you okay?"

She pulls the pillow away from her face, which is now streaked with fresh, frightened tears, looking up at me with those big watery teal eyes. "I… I think so. What happened? Did—did you kill him?"

"No, I didn't kill him," I shake my head quickly, "but he's done. It's over."

"Oh God, Frank—" Lori sits up, voice ready to break again. "—all I want to do is just go home." and then she reaches up and wraps her arms around my neck—I wince at the pain ripping through my shoulder. "I'm sorry," she pulls back a little. "are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little…" I refrain from giving her all the detail, managing a dry laugh. "...beaten up."

"You poor thing," she looks up into my eyes with her big, damp blue-green ones. "you know, that was like so heroic of you. You.. rescued me. How can I ever thank you?"

I shake my head slowly, her closeness starting to register and making me kind of nervous despite the pain and the agony and the torture. "You—you don't have to thank.. me, Lori. Really."

She smiles, bringing her voice down to almost a whisper. And letting her fingers sort of just tangle a little in my hair. "Well thank you anyway," and then the world pretty much ends. Because that's when she leans in closer and kisses me.

And then I realize that my voice recorder is still going.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _I'm so glad you liked that last chapter! And yes, I wouldn't kill Joe. ;) He's too dear to me. I can't wait to see what you think of this chapter! Thank you so much for reading. 3_


	39. Chapter 39

**chapter thirty-nine. joe hardy. converse rock-climber.**

I'm going to fall.

That's the worst feeling in the world, you know. Worse than the actual fall itself—the two, three, four seconds of numb, breathless knowing before it happens. I'm going to fall and I know it. And somehow that fact hurts less than it did to send Nancy away. Thankfully she listened to me and, though in total hysterics, got out of the mine. Her sobs cut my heart like knives even though I tried to kick their blades away. All I really know is that I took her hand at one point and told her that she meant everything to me, and that's why she had to leave—for me. And I'm glad I got a chance to say that, in case I die within the next few minutes. Not like I'm going to. I have no intention of dying. Ever.

Gravity, unfortunately, has other plans. I am so losing it. My grip on the wall, that is—and my mind, too, I guess.

All the water that was happily filling up the mine? It's now being sucked down into this gaping, giant sinkhole that the earth just had to crash our party with. I mean, COME ON. Seriously. A sink hole. It's not unlikely, because of all the mining and digging and water routing that has been going on in this place for a long time. All that activity has obviously started screwing around with the bedrock—Jake Hurley even said so himself in that letter from a hundred years back.

So yeah. This sucks. I need an escape plan—and fast. So I tighten my grip around the craggy slippery wall. Man, converse were not made for rock climbing.

Then it hits me—the water is coming from somewhere. Obviously from the other side of that fall-out wall, but beyond that, it must have a "routed course" through the mine. Like, a tunnel specifically for the water flow. I mean, that's what Jake Hurley said in his letter, right?

Riiiiight. Which means if I can somehow get to that fall-out wall, I could more than likely climb up into the water tunnel (which is now totally drained) and eventually find my way out of this mine. Because if there's a way for something to get in, there's always a way out. It's like science.

I let go and let myself fall. Do you have any idea how weird/horrible that feels? Probably not. First it's two and a half seconds of falling—and my heart simultaneously diving into my throat—then I crash-land (like, literally) into something deep and bottomless and cold. What I used to call "underground" is now just a pool of black water—COLD WATER which tries to close up my lungs and make them not even want to hold air for a few seconds while I try to push myself to the surface, losing my backpack in the process. _Dang it!_ But it's not like I'm going to try to swim around and find it in the dark—I mean, I'm sure there wasn't anything too important in there.

I finally surface, gasping and half-choking on the oxygen—which is super cold, but actually feels incredible in contrast to this water. Shoving the water out of my eyes, I manage to tread water long enough to get an idea of where I am. The wall is totally smashed open—not even partly like it was before—and the water flow has pretty much stopped. This is it.

I will myself to ignore the cold and get across the pool of water—it's kind of torturous, but I make it to the other side, reaching up to the jagged, broken edge of the busted-open wall and pulling myself up out of the water, trying to catch a foothold on the slippery rock. This task actually proves harder than I'd imagined, but after a few long seconds of searching around in the semi-darkness, I find a better grip and manage to climb up into the hole where the fall-out wall once stood. Inside, it's totally black. I can't see anything. At all. Which kind of makes me regret not going back for my stuff that I lost somewhere in the water. But my flashlight is probably drowned and wouldn't work anyway. So scratch that.

Feeling along the walls is just going to be as good as it gets. So that's exactly what I do—and it takes forever to reach the end of the tunnel. It feels like years. But it isn't really. You don't even know how long seconds can trawl on when you're soaking freezing wet and trying to crawl up through a dark, slippery tunnel when all you want to do is just pass out. Think going up a waterslide backwards. Wearing converse. Yeah—that bad. Worse, actually.

But it finally all pays off—because when I'm absolutely sure that my arms are going to fall off—like right now—there's the end of the tunnel. The opening is slightly brighter so I can actually see where I'm going which is a fun change of pace (seriously) and I think it's safe to say that I scramble like a total insane asylum escapee to the end of it, literally spilling out onto the floor.

I can barely see in here from the dull blue light draining inside through the cracks in the ceiling. I find myself in something like an intentionally-cut gutter—a water route, probably? It's winding alongside a tunnel which looks really familiar. It must be the one that Nancy and I came through when we first started to explore the mine—the one that gradually coursed downwards into the second level. Which means I can find my way out from here. Major win.

MAJOR WIN. Like, pretty much better than anything. I pull myself up out of the water gutter and onto the floor of the main tunnel. It's so dark in here—which means day probably hasn't broken, yet. But I don't care about the darkness or not being able to see.

I run. Tripping over stuff in the process, yes, but do I care? No.

I mean, I'm free. I'm out of here. And now I've got to find Nancy.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers: Yay, thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked that last chapter. It was definitely fun to write. Muahaha. ;) Oh yes it is practically tradition for Frank to rescue Joe from some sticky situation or other. lol. This chapter is short but I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading._


	40. Chapter 40

**chapter forty. nancy drew. two reasons.**

" _Joe!_ " I scream, taking in the horrible, empty scene before me.

The water has receded down to below ground level—filling up a gaping black hole where the earth used to be—leaving the foaming, icy water to lie stagnant there. And no trace of Joe. Nothing. Just the blank, empty, craggy wall that he had been holding onto when I left him.

"Joe! Are you there!? _Can you hear me?!_ "

Nothing. Except my own desperate screams echoing around in the hollow, dully-lit shaft. The tears start to crowd up again, warping everything into an indistinct blur. I manage to search the emptiness below one last time, noticing something I hadn't seen before. Something floating stagnantly in the silent, black water—Joe's backpack.

He's gone. He fell. He never would have been able to survive a fall that hard.

I pull myself away from the edge, barely feeling any sensation beyond that of my numb heartbeat and the sobs getting caught in my lungs. I squeeze my eyes shut hard for a few seconds.

"No. No—this isn't happening." my voice doesn't even sound like my own—it's so broken. "This isn't happening! Joe—you can't leave me! Please…" I fall to my knees, dropping my face into my damp hands. My eyes sore, my heart busted open.

"God, I should've stayed with you! Why didn't I.. why—why couldn't I have died instead—" I can barely feel the words escaping narrowly between violent sobs. "I should've stayed. I should've died too! God, Joe—please! Please don't be…"

At this point I can't even speak. And there really isn't any reason to. The words do nothing but echo off the walls and knife me in the chest. I pick myself up off the ground, every bone in my body cold and wet and aching. Numb. I feel like part of me has just been stabbed to death as I drag myself down the tunnel away from the scene of wreckage—away from the mine shaft.

It seems like hours that I spend feeling my way along the damp, craggy walls—trying to find the way out. Stumbling and crying and barely breathing between the violent sobs that take over my body like an outside force. Finally I glimpse the light again—and numbly crawl up to the opening, pulling myself out into the fresh air and the day which is just starting to break. The sun hasn't risen, yet.

I stumble down the slope of boulders, feeling rough edges scraping my arms and sharp rocks biting at my feet—but none of these feelings actually make it past my skin. It's like I'm completely numb to everything. Feeling nothing but the beat of my heart.

I make my way through the canyon, and finally beyond that, to the tracks. The empty, wide stretch of desert is all around me and the strip of harsh yellow starting to ease up onto the horizon. I just stand here for a moment, numb. Not even feeling my freezing wet clothes clinging to my skin anymore.

Then I drop to my knees. Crying. So hard, I can't see or even hear myself rightly—everything sounds strained and garbled like I'm underwater. And maybe I am. Drowning in my own tears. So I just lay on my face in the fetal position, draining out the pain through the water in my eyes—the pain that has so mercilessly ripped my heart to shreds.

"God, why did this have to happen?" my words come to me in strained whispers that I can barely even make out. "Why did he have to die?"

A long, deafening silence cuts deep.

"Everything is gone." I hear myself whisper, letting my eyes fall shut. "Everything I ever cared about—…" my voice begs to die on me, but I push through the tears and say it. "…He's gone."

Another silence. And then? A voice. Out of nowhere. A voice that comes to me sounding so distant and indistinct, I don't even recognize it.

"Gone?"

Answering the voice which could very well be my own—I'm too delirious and wasted to even comprehend anything right now—I sob out the words, "Yes, gone! Dead." the tears won't stop coming—they roll into my hands and weep down my arms and melt into my already-wet jeans. I pull in a deep, uneven breath. "I.. I thought he could've held on.. for longer. But he couldn't. And I—I should've stayed with him. I should've! But I didn't, and now he's…"

There's a brief silence before the voice comes again. This time a little closer. But still soft and strained through my loud heartbeat and shaky sobs.

"Dead?"

I don't hear myself reply. I just feel the whispered word make its way out on my tongue, "…Yes."

"No he's not." and that's when I feel a warm, strong hand touch my shoulder. "He never breaks a promise,"

At this my sore, tired eyes open up wider and my hands fall from my face. And I twist around in the cold sand to stare up at him.

"You… you mean you're…" Everything is still fogged in this blue, mumbly daze—and for a few solid moments I'm absolutely sure this is a dream. I slowly, numbly pull myself up to my feet. Still staring. "Are you alive? For real?"

Joe breaks one of those stupid, adorable smiles of his. Soaking wet. Blue eyes. Messy beat up looking. Dishevelled hair and everything else. But perfect. "I hope so. Either that, or this is heaven."

"Oh my God, Joe!" I laugh, tackling him to the ground. Seriously—that's exactly what I do. We're both sent sprawling into a mess in the sand—right in the middle of the train tracks—and I wrap my arms around him and start crying and laughing. And that's when the sun fully pulls itself up over the horizon, washing everything a harsh orange iridescent.

Finally I calm myself down enough and just lay on top of him for a few seconds, before pushing some six inches between our faces—just so I can see his blue eyes clearly enough to look into them and convince myself for sure. My fingers still slightly tangled in his hair. "But I—I mean, how can you be alive? Just.. how? "

"How? Two reasons," he reaches up to gently brush a strand of hair away from my tear-streaked face. "First, because I don't go down that easily." and he can't help but smile a little. "And second, because… I promised you I'd never die."

And that's when something warm and bright fills me—something that makes the tears stop and my heart pull itself back into one piece, and the feeling start to come back into my hands and my feet. And I smile. "…But how? How did you ever get out?"

"I let myself fall. Then I found the tunnel that the water was coming from—behind the wall—and eventually found my way out of the mine." Joe explains, a strand of my hair still tangled in his fingers. "And then I came looking for you."

"Well I came back to the mine—I didn't leave like you told me to. I just couldn't. But when I ran back to the elevator shaft.."

"I was gone." he nods a little, slowly. "So that's why you were crying. Because you thought I was dead."

I nod quickly, laughing through some uncalled for tears. "Yes."

"I'm sorry, Nancy." he looks up into my eyes with his big blue ones, reaching up to gently brush away a straying tear from my cheek. "I would never want to make you cry."

"Well it's too freaking late," I laugh, letting my arms fall around his neck and just lying here for another few seconds. And he wraps his arms around me. And for that one moment, everything is warm. And right.

Then I hear something. Like a grumbling, rushing sound.

"What is that noise?" I pull myself off of Joe finally, even though everything inside me totally does not want to.

He looks up at me, raising an eyebrow. "What noise?"

"Shh. Listen." I stand to my feet, putting up one finger for silence.

And there it comes again. Closer this time. Like the sound a jet would make. Only on the ground. Near here.

"The train!" I almost want to scream it, but don't.

Joe just lays there in the middle of the tracks, looking at me weird. "Seriously? _The_ train?"

I catch a glimpse of it coming—a mass of antique iron muscle and smoke screaming right for us. " _Yes!_ The train!"

He jumps to his feet and dives out of the way of the train, literally five seconds before the thing happily eats up the tracks like a ruthless monster. It streaks by in front of us, slowing a little as the screaming brakes are applied to prepare for a stop.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers: Thank you so much for reading and for the long review! :D I always enjoy reading your thoughts on my story (and of course I enjoy tormenting you with the suspense muahahaha.) I'm so glad you thought that last chapter was in character with Joe's personality. :) That makes me super happy! I hope this installment brings some satisfaction. Hehe. Thanks so much for reading!_


	41. Chapter 41

**chapter forty-one. joe hardy. flipchart yoyo face.**

"Go ahead, make my day?" I laugh, pulling myself off of the top bunk and dragging the earbuds out of my head. "You are so freaking awesome, bro,"

Frank laughs, looking up from his netbook for a second to cast me a modest look over the rims of his glasses. "Uh-huh. Well I was doing it to save your butt, you know,"

I smile. "Yeah, I know."

As soon as Nancy and I got ourselves on the train, we were so out of Brimstone. And out of Nevada. And so going back home. The last 12 hours were all food, dry clothes, hot water, shaving cream and crashing into bed for hours and hours. It was awesome. I never realized how amazing pillows (and cheeseburgers) are.

Thankfully when I wake, Frank is still working on his computer and isn't really trying to be quiet anymore. So I start grilling him about what happened and he tells me everything. About how Tino is so gone and so out of the game. And then I ask him how it happened and what he said and what Balducci said to him when he busted him—and then he just threw his voice recorder at me with some earbuds and I amused myself with it for the next twenty minutes.

"So, what was that long pause at the end?" I try my absolute hardest not to smile, wrapping the earbuds up around the recorder, and stopping in front of his desk. "Like after you asked Lori if she was okay, and then she was thanking you for being so heroic—"

Frank rips the recorder out of my hand, smirking a little but trying not to show it. "You weren't supposed to listen to that part,"

I laugh. "Oh. Well I did."

He rolls his eyes.

"So you're not denying your secret attraction to her anymore." I can't help but recycle all the teasing he threw at me before.

Frank gives me a totally unamused look. "I don't have a secret attraction to her."

"Fine. A secret infatuation, then."

"Shut up."

I just laugh and change the subject. "God, Frank, I'm sorry."

He glances up from his netbook, looking confused at the seriousness of my voice. "It's not... that big of a deal," he shrugs.

"No I mean, I'm sorry for everything that happened. Like, before you got trapped in Copper Gorge, we weren't really on speaking terms. And I was just a total ripping jerk to you. And I'm sorry,"  
He shakes his head slightly. "It's fine, Joe. Don't beat yourself up about it. Nancy told me all about what happened." he pauses for a second to shrug one shoulder. "And besides. I've already forgotten about it."

I smile and shake my head slowly. "Thanks, bro. I owe you too much."

"Just don't ever let me get stuck in a ghost town again," he straightens his glasses, looking back down at the netbook. "I'll consider that payback."

"Sounds like a plan."

There is a short silence, while Frank starts typing again. "So Nancy told you everything, huh?"

Frank nods, not stopping.

"…Do you think she's still up? What time is it, anyway?"

He throws the clock in the corner of the screen a glance. "Eleven twenty-one." then he looks back up to me. "She's out on the platform going to Camille's car. If you want to talk to her,"

I smile slightly and give a half-nod, reaching for the bedroom door to let myself out. "Thanks, bro."

"Sure thing,"

I let myself out into the hallway, which is dimly-lit as usual, shutting the door behind me. I drag a breath into my lungs and button up my untucked black overshirt most of the way before I reach the end of the hall. I shoulder open the door, stepping out onto the platform and getting wrapped up in the wind and the darkness and the whirling rush of everything.

Nancy glances up when the door opens—she's leaning against the left railing, looking out to nothing but the darkness. She smiles a little when I step out into the dull light and close the door after me.

And neither of us really says anything for a few long moments. We just kind of stand and look out to the darkness.

"So... are you going to miss it?" I turn to face her, raising an eyebrow.

"Miss what?" she smiles a little—though I can't see it very well in the dim light. "The train? Or the mystery? ...Or being stuck in the mine together?"

I laugh slightly and shrug one shoulder. "I don't know. All of the above, I guess."

She smiles again and shakes her head, pulling her gray sweater closer around her. "Yeah... I don't think so."

I nod. "Same here."

Silence again.

"So, where were you all day?"

I almost laugh. "Uh.. sleeping,"

She smiles. "Same here." and turns to give me a look through the semi-darkness. "And now I'm like, wide awake. Never getting back to sleep."

"Yeah," I nod slowly, getting sort of lost in the way her eyes look. Her blue eyes. "Me too."

"So…" she runs her palms over the railing. "How does hot chocolate and a Scrabble marathon sound?"

"The former sounds amazing. The latter sounds pretty boring. But nothing will put me to sleep at this point."

Nancy laughs and lets her arm slip around mine, pulling me towards the door. "Sweet. Then I'm in luck."

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _Eeeep thank you so much! I'm so happy you liked that scene with Nancy and Joe. They had to have a happy moment together. :) Well, there is only one more chapter after this! I hope you enjoy reading._


	42. Chapter 42

**epilogue. nancy drew.**

 _Dear Hannah,_

 _Well, this is it! We're about twenty minutes away from the train station in Denver and I really can't believe this whole adventure is all over. Of course, I'm glad it's over, but departure always seems to drag out a melancholy side of me that I rarely show. Namely, I'm starting to remember just how hard and painful it is to say goodbye to incredible friends who live way too far away._

 _This case proved itself a seriously difficult feat, and though I felt like giving up so many times on so many occasions, my pride wouldn't allow it. Honestly, I don't think I would be sitting here writing this letter to you if it weren't for the help and unfailing strength of others, to whom I owe my life. It's hard for me to explain in a letter, but you'll know what I mean soon enough._

 _As it turned out, our resident "real detective" aka: Tino Balducci was to blame for all of the set-ups, misunderstandings and near-death experiences we had to deal with. However, his forged letters and attempts at justice failed – I guess it's lucky for us that he didn't have a paper shredder. I guess I don't need to go into how desperate Tino's pleas for mercy were as he was being arrested. (More on this when I get home! It's so much easier to explain/re-enact in person.)_

 _Anyway, the important thing is, the mystery is solved! (for the most part – there are some things, as our resident ghost hunter would advise us, that simply cannot be explained even by the best detectives out there.)_

 _At this point, I think we are all very tired (in a good way) and more than happy to be coming home. Looking back at everything that has happened, I don't think I've ever felt more satisfied to close a case. I'm glad to be meeting up with Dad in Denver. It will be great for us both to travel home together in a few days. Maybe I'll have a little time for relaxing before we fly home. (That would be refreshing, right?) I can't wait to see you again and hug Togo! I have so many amazing stories to tell you._

 _See you soon!_

 _Love, Nancy_

I am barely finished penning the last letter of my name when two warm hands that smell lightly of spearmint close over my eyes, making me jump ever so slightly. "Guess who."

I laugh, reaching up to tangle my fingers through his, pulling them away from my eyes so I can tilt my head back and look up. "What are you doing, Joe? Reading over my shoulder?"

"Maybe," he side-smiles a little.

I slap his hand and sit up straighter, pretending to be offended. I start folding up the letter and pushing it into a matching stationary envelope.

"So are you almost ready? The train's pulling into the station now,"

"For real?" I look up, feeling my eyes widen a little. And I finally notice how the train has definitely lost a lot of its speed. "We're early."

He nods slowly. "Yeah."

I seal the envelope—which I had previously addressed—and stand up. "Yeah, I'm pretty much all ready… I think." I throw a glance around the little bedroom all lit up with the bright, sunny wash of morning flooding in through the door which I'd left open.

There is a moment of silence, while I glance down at my bags. I can feel Joe's gaze on my face, but nothing really registers for a few numb seconds. _I'm going home. Gosh, I hate goodbyes._

I snap out of it and so does Joe. He quickly steps out into the hallway as I grab my suitcase and kick it out the door, letting it roll a little.

"So, the headache awaits me in New York,"

I look up, throwing the rest of my stuff into my backpack. "What do you mean?"

"Oh just the stupid ATAC Certification Exams I'm going to have to take all over again to get my ID back," Joe yawns, leaning one shoulder against the door frame. "It's a mess, but I'll deal. I guess."

"Yeah, that kind of sucks." I shrug, zipping up the front pocket. "But not as bad as sink holes."

"Definitely," he laughs slightly, straightening up a little. "I'm pretty happy to be alive."

I nod violently, "Me too," and sling my backpack over my shoulder, stepping out into the hallway with him. "You know, I never got a chance to thank you,"

He raises an eyebrow. Just one—like he does. Making me smile slightly. "For what?"

I shrug one shoulder, "For everything. Everything you did for me this whole time. We never really talked about it… but you read that letter just now, didn't you? I meant it when I said that I owe you…" I bring my gaze back up to his blue eyes. "I… owe you my life."

Joe looks confused, "You mean you were talking about.. me?"

"Well yeah!" I let a smile out with the words. Then looking back to his eyes, my voice comes a little softer. "…Yeah. I was."

For a few seconds, he seems lost for words—distracted by my eyes. "Uh, it's not really.." he swallows. "It wasn't really anything."

"Yes it was and you know it. Don't be all modest."

He exhales a slight smile, too—then meets my gaze again. "What I meant was that.. if I had to do it all over again? I wouldn't do anything differently." he pulls in a shaky breath—and I don't know if I can hear it because the train has slowed down so much, or because the quiet, sunlit gap between our faces is actually really small. "I would do anything for you, Nancy."

I nod slowly, feeling a kind of tingling, overwhelming warmth wrapping me up, causing my heart to beat a little faster. "I know,"

He looks up again, his eyes having somehow wandered slightly from mine. Blue. "No, you don't." he almost smiles—and he probably would if he didn't look so much like he was dying inside. "I meant what I said when we were escaping the mine, when... I had you leave without me. I meant it when I said that... that you mean everything to me."

I thought he was hoping I'd forget those words. Not like I ever could. They were ringing through my head constantly, like echoes. I'd wrestled with them, listened to them, stared at the ceiling all night and tried to understand them and the attack my heart was under.

I nod again, trying to not smile too much for his sake, but feeling like I can't stop myself. He looks so much in pain.

"I know you meant it, Joe."

He just stares at me for a long few seconds. "Why are you laughing?"

"I'm not—I'm sorry." I kind of lie, hiding it with my fist.

Joe doesn't seem to care. Like if nothing could possibly put him in more anguish than he's already in. "Look, Nance—you're making this so freaking hard. But I've _got_ to tell you something."

I brush a strand of hair away from my face, meeting his gaze and wondering if I can possibly wait for him to finish his sentence.

"Nancy, I…" he takes a short breath, "I don't think you know... how much I—"

But he never gets to finish. Because for the first time ever, I'm the one to interrupt him. I'm the one to put an end to my loud heartbeat pounding out of my chest. I'm the one to crush the sunlit space between our lips.

And that's when everything sort of just slows down and goes silent. And all I feel is warmth. And his hands slowly slip around my waist. And my hands slowly fall around his neck. And something tastes of faint spearmint. And for those few long seconds, everything is absolutely perfect.

I start to wish that we'll never have to breathe, but of course we do. And when our faces do separate just slightly, I pull in a breath. His hands still around my waist, my eyes still shut, our foreheads still touching.

I smile and finally let go of the words. "I love you, too."

He doesn't say anything in reply at first. He just lets out a short breath, reaching up to let his fingers run softly through my long hair.

"Are you real?" he whispers. "Am I seriously alive right now?"

I smile. "I hope so. Either that, or this is heaven."

Joe opens his eyes, meeting my gaze. Laughing and wrapping his arms around my waist, lifting me off my feet in the sunlit hallway. I can't stop myself from laughing too, until he sets me back down. I smile, my fingers immediately finding the spaces between his.

"We should get going, or we might be left behind in Denver."

He smiles, "I don't mind."

"No seriously." I press a kiss into the back of his hand.

"No seriously." he does the same with my other hand, kissing it, and then resting his chin on my knuckles.

I smile, shaking my head slowly. "Come on."

I force myself to reach down and grab my suitcase from the floor. And then I turn and lead the way down the sun-washed hallway, letting one of my hands stay wrapped up in his, as the train pulls itself to a complete stop. I push open the door and let us both outside into the station.

* * *

 _FlightFeathers:_ _Thank you so much! I'm so happy you liked that chapter. And that you feel like you've been stuck in the mine with Nancy and Joe! I felt the same way when I was writing this. Hehe. I hope you like the ending and how I wrapped things up! :) Also, I'll miss posting this too. But I'll let you know that I just wrote another AE (for The Phantom of Venice) that I'd love to post on here! I'll probably be posting it in the Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys crossover fiction threads though. So keep an eye out! :D And thank you again for reading this whole story! Your comments mean a lot to me. God bless!_


End file.
